Bloodstream
by DreamingOfHalcyons
Summary: "Point is," Lydia tuts. "The hunters are too smart." "You're smart." Stiles looks at her. "I'm a genius," Lydia turns to him briefly to see a slight smirk on his face. She flashes him a smile. "They're something else, though."
1. Cheating Death

**_Okay, this idea came into my head late at night so bare with me. Basically, this is my attempt at writing an alternative season 6b or season 7. This will be a multi chapter story :)_**

* * *

An arrow is flying towards Lydia's head, and if it weren't for Malia standing a few centimeters away with super speed, she'd probably be dead. Although, she isn't sure that be such a bad idea at the moment.

She musters up every last ounce of strength she has from where she was pushed away and fell to the ground. It seems like a feeble attempt at fighting the hunters, but right now she needs to try something. Her hands are grazed, bloody from taking the impact of her fall, she winces and blows them to get the dirt and grit off. She gets up from the dusty road where she lay and puts every bit of energy into her voice and hands, pushing the hunter away with a scream.

Even though her voice is throbbing, she isn't ready to give up this fight. She tries to make it one of her loudest, and she thinks she succeeds because even Malia wriggles a finger in her ear.

The man, who had been attacking her, flies back. Almost as if he didn't know he was hunting a banshee and how arrowheads dipped in wolfs-bane wouldn't do anything to quell the voice of one.

She likes tricking people like that, makes some sick surge of pride run through her veins.

The hunter crashes into a wall with so much force a crack that resembles a lightning bolt is dividing the middle of it. It scares her sometimes, her power, and how she doesn't quite know what she's capable of.

She looks around the scene before her tired eyes, and it's absolute carnage. There are half-dead hunters scattered around the abandoned building site they were currently battling in. Gushing wounds from bullets, arrows and claws; puddles of blood surrounded the hurt. It was three against dozens.

Scott, Malia and Lydia had all been tracing a pack of hunters in Seattle that had reportedly branched off from Monroe and Gerard. It was exhausting trying to find them. They had been clever about the traces they'd left, so they'd been following leads that often resulted in dead ends. But they didn't give up. Scott wouldn't let them.

A bullet connects with Malia's leg and she roars out in pain as scarlet blood drains out of her leg and she looks at Scott for guidance. Scott always knows what he's doing. She isn't reassured when she looks at him. He has blood splattered on his face like a painting. Determinedly, he claws at one of the hunters that have attacked him, he tries to stop them or slow them down. Anything to mean he doesn't kill them. And he hasn't, at least not yet, and that's what they all fear, someone will get their hands too bloody.

Lydia's half way there. The way they've been going after the hunters, she's lost count of how many she's left unconscious and she isn't sure that even half of them would've woken up. She tries her best to put a mental block on that sort of stuff, otherwise her brain doesn't think straight and since they're hunting very skilled hunters, she needs her brain. It's her best weapon.

Lydia runs at the hunter who shot Malia. She's female, her hair a soft brown and her eyes even browner. It takes Lydia back at how oddly it resembles Allison, and she almost misses the knife trying to make a jab at her arm because of it. She moves out of the way quickly, and knocks her leg into the hunters so she falls, or so that's how she wanted it to go. Except the hunter swiftly grabs her leg, nails digging into her calf, and lifts her up so she falls hard on her back. A shot of pain darts up her spine, she feels it tingle in her nose and she winces.

"I can't believe it," The hunter snarls. "A banshee before my eyes."

"Well make the most of it while it lasts," Lydia spits, as she grabs her wrists because this crazy bitch is trying to put a knife through her skull. "Because I'm going to kill you."

And for that brief second she kind of means it.

She raises one of her legs that's trapped by the hunter's weight, it hurts every muscle in her leg to do so, but she manages to connect her knee with the side of her ribs. It doesn't do much, this woman is two-hundred pounds of muscle and she has a knife in hand, not to mention the shotgun that's sticking out of the waistband of her pants. She doesn't even lose her balance.

"You think you can intimidate me?" The hunter barks at her, as she pins her wrists to either side of her head with her knees.

If Lydia can't use her hands, she can't do much so she tries to swallow the flicker of panic that threatens to surface. She hasn't realized it, but she's getting good and not being afraid. At least for her own safety.

"Sweetheart," Lydia forms one of her dazzling 'Lydia Martin' smiles. "Get off of me before I shatter your skull with my voice."

To Lydia's horror she drops the knife right next to Lydia's head and reaches into her jeans to reveal her gun. She clicks the bullet into the chamber and jabs the barrel under her chin, digging in it so forcefully the tender skin breaks. She feels the blood warmly trickle down her neck, the pain making her eyes sting with tears.

She's aware that one of her hand is free, although it's numb with pins and needles from the weight of the hunter's foot. Nevertheless, she considers her options. She can make a grab for the knife, or hope Scott saves her in time. She knows how to take care of herself and she doesn't have the time to wait for Scott.

"Can't do that with a bullet in your head." She quips then, as her finger hovers above the trigger, Lydia grabs the knife with her free hand and jabs the butt of it into the side of the hunters head. She watches her brown eyes roll to the back of her head and she falls limp on top of Lydia so she pushes her off, gun still rested on her chest.

Another one she'll leave unconscious, she thinks.

She struggles off of the floor, every limb, bone and muscle aches with the impact of hitting the ground. Or it could be from knife wounds. Or the dead weight of a Hunter. She feels like jelly, adrenaline may be making her heart pound but her body is beginning to shut down. Her head spins for a brief second, and she can't afford that second, she needs to be hyper-aware of everything that goes around her in times like this, or she gets hurt.

"Lydia watch out!" Malia yells at Lydia, but she's not fast enough, Lydia turns and meets a man diving a knife into her stomach.

Without thinking Lydia shoots him in the leg with the gun that she hadn't even realized she was holding, then when he stumbles, she shoots him in the other leg. And in the brief moment it feels good, seeing the burst of crimson. Until it registers that she's been stabbed and blood is oozing out of her like there's no tomorrow. And at this rate, she won't have a tomorrow.

She digs the knife out, wincing and clutches it tight in her hand, then she collapses. She can't remember how many times she's hit this ground, but from the grazes on her hands she knows it's been a lot.

She takes her coat off shakily, balls it up and squeezes her eyes shut as she applies it to the gushing wound.

It's only when her coat is off she registers how bitterly-freezing it is. It's winter, and boy does Seattle get cold winters.

She isn't sure how long she stays led on the ground, waiting for everything to die out around her but she's relieved when Scott comes into her vision. She can tell it's been a while because her teeth are chattering and her hands have gone numb.

Scott rips his belt off and wraps it around her abdomen, tightening it as much as she'll let him. A dull throb has set in her stomach, and she's feeling so tired that she wouldn't mind sleeping right now.

She wonders if this is what Allison felt when she was dying. Maybe she felt the sticky, warm feeling of blood leaking from her stomach or if she had the same ache in her head as there is in her stomach.

"Think we should call Stiles now?" Lydia breathes.

When he understands what she's said he sighs, rolls his eyes and slumps onto the ground, waiting for an ambulance.

* * *

Lydia has always loved winter, no matter how old she gets. She's thought of it as a promise that family and friends get together at Christmas and Thanksgiving. She likes the cold when she can sit at her house with hot cocoa and have a blanket wrapped around her. She likes it when Stiles can keep her warm. Winter is the promise of a new year. A new chance to forgive herself for whatever she's done wrong in the year and a chance to set new goals for herself.

The only goal she'd be setting for next year is to not get stabbed again. Or shot. That can't be too good either.

But Lydia doesn't like winter when she wakes up in a dingy hotel room, with no central heating and a dull throb of pain radiating in her abdomen.

She opens her eyes to meet a drab white ceiling that has long, dark cracks running through it, like it might fall down any second now. She's lying on something uncomfortable, it's a mattress, but not a good one. Springs are poking into her spine at odd angles and the sheets are rough against her sensitive skin. She has no cover on, which explains why she's so cold, so she turns on her side and cuddles into herself.

As she turns she sees Scott slumped in a rickety armchair, and Malia on the bed with her, fast asleep. Their clothes still blood stained and smudged with dirt.

She sits up, which is a mistake. The room spins before her and she puts a hand over her mouth to stop herself from being sick. She has an urge to cry and has an urge to run away from this all and call it quits.

"Lydia, you're awake." Lydia snaps her head in the direction of the voice, panic running through her body as she fears they've been taken hostage and drugged. Relief fills her when she sees Deaton stood at the doorway of what she supposes to be the bathroom.

"How'd we get here?" Her voice croaks.

She remembers fighting the hunters and she remembers getting stabbed. Then it goes black. She probably passed out from the pain, or blood loss.

"Scott called me-"

"You were in Seattle?" Lydia cuts in, her mind is foggy so she tries to make sense of what has happened in the last twelve hours or so.

Sleep is tugging at her, she's exhausted, her limbs begging for rest.

"I tend to keep close to Scott, yes." He nods, and steps into the room, kneeling by the side of the bed and pressing the back of his hand to Lydia's forehead. "He said you were stabbed, Malia was shot and you lost the hunters."

"You make it sound like a total failure." Lydia sarcastically comments, and Deaton smiles at her.

A wave of drowsiness washes over her and she wonders if she's been drugged.

"I've given you a herbal treatment that should speed up the healing process."

"I don't feel like I'm healing." Lydia winces as she settles back down onto the pillows.

She wishes, suddenly, that Stiles were here so she could curl up in his arms and he'd stroke her hair until she felt better. He'd kiss her forehead and tell her everything will be alright. But she made him stay at D.C. where he'd be safer. She made him finish his FBI training so he'd actually have a future.

"Dizziness, nausea and tiredness are side effects but they'll wear off in twenty-four hours." Deaton reassures her, he fetches his jacket and lays it over her body which she's thankful for. She was starting to shiver uncontrollably. "Rest while you can."

But Lydia's already gone when he tells her.

* * *

"I'm telling you it's not necessary!" Scott objects, to what Lydia isn't sure because she's only just stirring awake.

Her bladder full and her mouth dry. She wonders how long she was out.

"Scott, maybe you should consider the danger you put him in if he doesn't know." Deaton says calmly, and Lydia knows immediately they're talking about Stiles.

Back in Senior year of High School they thought not telling Stiles about Monroe and Gerard and the Anuk-Ite was protecting him. Then they realized that if either was to cross his path he wouldn't know how harmful they were, except Gerard. Lydia knew that it would put him in more danger. She wasn't risking that again.

Who was there to take the brunt of not telling Stiles that? Lydia. Of course. She had to explain why they did it, had to reassure Stiles that she did it out of love, which wasn't a lie. Sending Stiles back to D.C. was awful, he'd almost refused to go but it's a good job Lydia's stubborn otherwise she would've caved in. Which she almost did.

She needs Stiles safe, she needs him to hold her and be here. But how could he be here without fighting? How could he be in D.C and be safe? There wasn't an easy way to go about it but Lydia was about ready to try anything to save him.

Ever since the Dread Doctors Scott had been losing his temper easily, Lydia was noticing it now more than ever. He tries to save everyone, gets frustrated if he can't but no-one ever blames him for not being able to help. Especially when they lost Stiles in the Wild Hunt Scott has been trying to protect him even more. Maybe too fiercely because his loyalties are stronger than the instinct to take care of himself.

Lydia slowly lifts herself off the bed, expecting her head to feel fuzzy again, but this time she feels brand-new.

"Hey, how you feeling?" Malia asks as she's the first one to notice that she's awake. Lydia nods and manages a small smile at the girl. "You've been asleep for a good twenty hours."

"Twenty hours!"

"Look on the bright side," Malia smiles. "You don't have any dark rings beneath your eyes."

"My dream came true." Lydia rolls her eyes as Malia helps her get out of bed. Lydia's legs are shaky at first, but they manage to support her weight quickly so she doesn't have to slump on Malia. "How's your leg?"

"Brand new." Malia shrugs.

Of course she's right, you wouldn't know she was shot in the leg just yesterday because her skin is so smooth. No scar, no nothing. That's a perk of having supernatural healing, she guesses. Lydia's mind quickly snaps to the nasty scar underneath her ribs. The scar just below her boob. The scars on her neck from The Beast which she covers with makeup. She hates that fact she's Supernatural but lacks the healing ability.

"What are we talking about?" Lydia asks when she meets Scott's eye, he looks pale, his eyes heavy and a crease in his brow that hasn't gone away in about a month. A permanent sign of stress.

"Scott still doesn't think we should tell Stiles about how bad this is all getting." Malia answers for him, reaching out for his hand and giving it a small squeeze.

She can't help but think about Allison every time they show one another affection.

"What if we die and Stiles comes home to no-one?" Lydia questions, eyebrows raised at Scott. She knows she shouldn't give him such a hard time, but she's struggling just as much as he is.

"What if Stiles dies?" Scott deadpans, which earns him a stern stare from the redhead and silence.

Lydia would never want to imagine what losing Stiles would be like. Never waking up to a text from him, never feeling his strong arms wrap up her limbs in a hug, never feel his warmth when they share a bed. She'd lose part of herself, like she did with Allison.

"My minds made up," Lydia sighs. "He needs to know."

Scott blinks at her, runs a hand through his hair and opens and shuts his mouth several times as if deciding on what to say next. "Things are getting serious now, Lydia. It's way too dangerous."

"I think you should consider telling him," Deaton speaks up, which Lydia is thankful for because he's on her side. "You could use an extra pair of hands and an extra brain."

It's silent between them all, for almost too long that it starts to make Lydia's ears buzz from it.

"Give us a minute will you?" Scott says to Malia and Deaton, they nod and leave the room.

Lydia isn't sure where they go, this doesn't seem like the kind of hotel that has a bar or a lounge.

Lydia sighs and follows Scott to the small window ledge at the other end of the room and they sit, side by side. They don't talk for a while, they just listen to each other breathe. Scott smells earthy and slightly sweaty, he probably hasn't showered in days. When Lydia thinks of it, she can't remember the last time she has. By the feel of her hair, that's knotted into a bun on top of her head, it's been a few days.

"Jesus, Scott! Speak you're making me uncomfortable!" Lydia exclaims because the silence between the two is deafening and it isn't helping that they both have dried blood on their clothes.

Lydia notices the rip in her bodysuit, which makes her oddly annoyed because this color complimented her.

"I know you love him, but believe me when I say that he'd benefit if he doesn't know." Scott tells Lydia.

He takes hold of her hand and runs a thumb along her palm. Her palms that are ripped raw and criss-crossed with red scratches. He's comforting her, she realizes, trying to keep her calm so she doesn't lash out at him. She guesses after the past few days they've had that her shouting and hitting him is quite likely.

"What good did it do us last time? He's still touchy about it now." Lydia sighs, she can feel herself tear up at the thought of lying to Stiles.

She can still see his pale, innocent face and whiskey colored eyes staring down at her as she tells him she's sorry, continuously.

"What if he gets hurt?" She knows what he's trying to do, he's trying to guilt trip her.

He's attempting to convince her that Stiles helping them out on this mission is absurd.

"What if we get hurt?" Lydia says, and she can't help the tear that slips free from her eye, she sniffs and wipes it away.

Scott pulls her under is arm and kisses the top of her head.

"You can call him," Scott tells her softly. "I'd hate myself if something happened to you and he wasn't here."

She allows herself a small smile, because after everything Scott's been through he still puts everyone before him. Saves everyone but himself. Maybe someone should start looking after him.

"Thank you." She whispers and grips him tighter.

She makes a mental note, she owes Scott, once again.

They stay there like that, hugging each other like any family would.


	2. You Won't Believe This False Hope

**Thanks for the follows and favorites! Please review :)**

* * *

Lydia is restless.

She's tossed and turned in every direction and the sheets end up screwed in a ball at her feet. She lays there, shivering.

She spends half of the night wide awake in bed, staring up at her ceiling as her mind plays tricks on her. She processes all that had happened with the hunters, finding everything hard to believe. It eventually registers that she almost died and figures that Stiles should probably know that they are out hunting the hunters again. Before it all turns upside down.

Last time it got too out of hand, it should never get like that again.

She tries to imagine what would of happened if her stab wound from a few nights ago was fatal. Morbidly, she tries to think of how Scott would tell Stiles, how Stiles would react, what he'd end up doing. The answers her own grave mind feed her are awful, she hates herself for even thinking it, but she knows that Stiles had to learn about this sooner or later. And she guesses she'd rather be alive when that happens.

He's flying into Beacon Hills from College today, all the way from D.C. Although he isn't due to land until mid-afternoon, Lydia's up by six, a mixture of nerves and excitement.

She knew telling Stiles over the phone about the hunters was stupid and cowardly. She knew it was easier to tell him where she couldn't see his face because his reaction would've killed her. Besides, if it was face to face they would've argued. Logically, she was just trying to save their breath. They argued last time when they finally had chance to talk about how she kept him out of the loop of things, and it wasn't the best for either of them.

She can't imagine he'll be too happy when he finds out she was stabbed.

And he'll be so annoyed when he learns that she was balancing classes at MIT as well as travelling from city to city to stop the people that want them dead. He believes in her more than anyone when it comes to winning the Fields Medal, so the supernatural having some priority over her education makes Stiles angry. He cares for her in a way that no boy has ever done.

But, she knows her and Stiles are up for a heated discussion.

They haven't seen one another for three weeks, which is not as long as they have been going without one another. Most times they go as long as six weeks, which kills them both. It's too difficult trying to find time. They're still selfish with one another because everything's new to them. They're still getting to know each other as more than friends. They fuck when they can and if it's possible, they don't talk supernatural if they only have a night together.

She dresses in blue ripped jeans and an olive green cami vest, she layers a khaki colored cardigan on top. One of her favorites because it's so warm and woolly. She steps into her brown boots and throws her brown bag in the crook of her arm. She takes another glance at herself in the mirror. Her skin tinted from foundation, her eyelashes long and curled from mascara, eyebrows darkened, lips red and her hair hung in curls down to her waist. She looks normal, not like a banshee, not like she was stabbed a few days ago and like she hasn't been hiding her life from her boyfriend.

She grabs her keys and slams the front door shut as she leaves.

She knows it's going to take her a while to get there, because of traffic, so she's thankful that she leaves early. Plus, tapping her fingers on the wheel makes her nerves calm. The traffic makes her remember how excited she is to see Stiles.

She imagines his burning amber eyes, how his nose will be red because of the cold and how his hair will be ruffled because of the wind.

She finds her paid parking spot at the airport, gets out of the car and walks into the waiting area that's swarming with people. She imagines people coming home for thanksgiving, possibly from College like Stiles or maybe people who have been on vacation. She can't help but be jealous that when people's loved ones return home they probably wouldn't have to say goodbye again. They would be home for good. Lydia knows she'll have to force Stiles back up to D.C no matter how heartbreaking. No matter the protest he'll put up.

She finds a spot by a pillar that isn't as crowded, she doesn't have a sign for him, so she just stands on her tiptoes scanning the flight board. She finds his flight number on the side, a smile ghosting her face when it reads 'on time'.

It takes another twenty minutes for Stiles' flight to come through the gate, and when Lydia's phone buzzes in her pocket she knows it's from him.

 _Just landed, where you to? x_

She scans her surroundings, spots a Starbucks opposite her so she texts back:

 _Opposite Starbucks x_

His response takes two seconds:

 _I should've known ;) x_

She smiles to herself and tucks her phone back in her pocket and focuses her gaze on the gate. She thinks she sees him once or twice, but it's not. It isn't until she looks at Starbucks she sees him, stood there with his suitcase in one hand and his backpack slung around one shoulder, scanning the crowd for her. A wave of longing washes through her, spreading all the way to her toes.

She's been like steel since Stiles went, every time he comes home she melts. When he leaves again, she's stone cold, like a routine. She doesn't have any other options, she has to be head strong when Stiles isn't around. If she isn't then she's dead weight, Jackson made that much very clear. Although, she can't remember the last time she's allowed herself to want him this much, maybe it was her near-death experience changing her, but she can't help tripping over her own feet to run into his arms.

He's dressed in a thick grey jumper and black jeans, she imagines his feet must be freezing in his sneakers and she makes a mental note to take him shoe shopping when they get chance. Over his jumper he has a black bomber jacket, which can't be too warm, she thinks. His chocolate brown hair is covered with a dark blue beanie.

She meets his arms and he holds her tight against him, her arms wrap around his neck. He smells so familiar that Lydia's eyes begin watering, and despite the cold outside he feels warm, he feels like home.

"God, I've missed you." Is the first thing Stiles says, his head nuzzled in her neck; breathing her in.

"Me too," She whispers back. "Me too."

They pull back and lock eyes for the first time.

She always forgets about the galaxy that are Stiles' eyes. She forgets about the swirls and twirls of gold and amber and shades of brown that merge together to create something as beautiful as the sky. She loves them, falls for his eyes before she falls for anything else. Although, she notices they're not as bright as they usually are, but she blames the travelling.

She reaches up to peck his lips and although they're happy to see one another, she can tell he's thinking about what she's been hiding.

"How was your flight?" Lydia asks when they pull back, she grabs his suitcase and starts pulling it along for him as they walk.

"I was stuck next to some drunk, pretty sure that's his slobber." Stiles laughs as he pulls at his shirt sleeve, and Lydia smiles too.

She misses him so much sometimes, she forgets how much she needs him to be reminded of the good left in this world.

"Can't say I've had such a fun time here." Lydia jokes, but realizes she shouldn't of said it, she knows it'll upset Stiles.

"So I've heard," Stiles sighs, he scratches his forehead like he's thinking. "Scott called me before I boarded."

"Scott called?"

"Gave me a briefing on what's been happening." He says almost offhandedly, she looks at him to see what he's feeling, and she can tell he knows about her being stabbed. And he isn't happy about it.

"Nothing new really," She says as they reach her car so she opens the trunk and he heaves his suitcase up and drops it in. "Just the same old hunters trying to kill us."

"Just the same old stab wounds?" Stiles says flatly. He gets in the car and slams the door shut.

Lydia stands there for a moment trying to remain calm about the situation. The last thing she wants is a shouting match. She tries to appreciate that he's been travelling for a while, he's been working really hard and he's flown in a few days after she called him, so he's bound to be angry. She told him about the hunters on the phone, surprisingly he hadn't freaked out to much. But now he would, knowing she got hurt.

She swings herself in the car but Stiles doesn't say anything, she turns the key in the ignition with a sigh. She knows if it was him who was hurt she would be angry, but only to an extent. Can't he be thankful she's safe now?

"Let's be adults about this." Lydia mutters as she reverses out of her car spot, she steps on the gas as they head toward the exit, following the white arrows on the road.

"If you were an adult you wouldn't be stupid enough to get involved. Despite being a banshee you heal like a human." He says the last bit softly, because the only reason they argue about this is because he cares.

Lydia has to appreciate this, him. Because who has ever cared about her this deeply?

"Don't remind me," Lydia sighs, she signals left as she follows the line of traffic out of the airport. "I'm aware it's my weakness."

"Lydia don't do that." Stiles says warmly.

He reaches a hand out and runs it soothingly up her thigh, squeezing slightly. Her insides flip-flop. She imagines what sex will be like with him later, its been a while for them to be separated. She has to have some more self-control, because all it takes is a simple touch and she forgives him for everything. She forgets about the troubles at hand and she will just melt. She doesn't even have the energy to defend herself when his hand has her like that.

She finally gets onto the highway, signalling they're finally en route for Beacon Hills.

"Point is," Lydia tuts. "The hunters are too smart."

"You're smart." Stiles looks at her.

"I'm a genius," Lydia turns to him briefly to see a slight smirk on his face. She flashes him a smile. "They're something else, though."

"How long were you in Seattle?" He asks, his foot tapping on the floor, his eyes skimming the road ahead.

He's anxious, she can tell after spending only ten minutes with him.

"A week or so." Lydia replies. "Don't know how you live down in D.C I hear it's fucking freezing." She changes the subject, purposely.

They edge nearer to home, taking back roads to avoid traffic.

"Beacon Hills isn't much better."

Lydia ignores that, she isn't sure if it's a dig about her coming back to fight the supernatural.

They drive for a while until Lydia speaks again. "Are you hungry? Do you want me to pick you anything up?"

"Lydia," He looks at her seriously. "I'm always hungry."

* * *

It isn't long before the greasiness of their In-N-Out burger wears off and they're sat in Lydia's front room, limbs tangled in limbs until things start getting heated between the two. And it's not the good kind of heated either.

"How's your classes going?" Stiles asks as his fingers absent-mindlessly trace Lydia's thigh, she shivers at the contact and nudges her face into his neck.

"They're okay," Lydia states.

She thinks about telling him how she's afraid she'll fall behind because of travelling around the country to track the hunters. She almost tells him about a new theory they learned in math the other day and she almost tells him about her hypothesis but she's too tired. She hates herself for being so short with him sometimes, but it's exhausting being her.

"Just okay?"

"Yeah." She murmurs into his skin and shuts her eyes.

Her head starts throbbing from tiredness. She guesses it's not a good idea waking up at six.

"Have you missed any?" He asks, and Lydia wants to kick herself because she visibly freezes. "Being down in D.C. isn't exactly two minutes away from MIT."

She pulls back and looks at him, his eyes aren't looking at her so she sighs then pulls away, completely.

"Seriously?" She rolls her eyes and slumps on the sofa, away from Stiles. Although his hand is still on her thigh she misses the warmth of his body. "I can't keep arguing about the same _shit_ all the time."

"We're not arguing," He runs a hand over his face. "We're discussing."

"What exactly are we discussing?" Lydia raises an eyebrow.

"The danger you keep putting yourself in." Stiles turns to look at her and she rolls her eyes, already tired of where this conversation is going to lead them. "Lydia, please, I can't lose you too."

"What about you, huh? Am I supposed to let you go out into some heroic-human battle and allow you to sacrifice yourself for Scott?" She unintentionally raises her voice at him as she feels her throat becoming tighter with tears. "It works both ways."

"Then stop putting yourself in these situations!"

"If I stopped would you?" Lydia looks at him, waits for an answer which she gets from the look in his eyes. "Exactly."

She supposes the only person she has to blame is Scott because it's easier to blame him than herself or Stiles. Both of them, Stiles more so, are so fiercely loyal to Scott that they can't back down from this yet, not after coming this far. They both know it causes them arguments, because every damn time they go into battle one of them gets seriously hurt, as if God is reminding them they are human. Yet they carry on doing it. They keep flirting with death as if they have a reason to.

"What are we supposed to do?" Stiles asks quietly and Lydia slumps back into his arms again.

She isn't sure if he's asking what to do about their problem, or how to be be less loyal to Scott, or how to move forward, but Lydia doesn't know the answer. She never knows the answer when it comes to the Supernatural.

"I guess we be more careful," Lydia eventually answers. "We can still fight and not get hurt, right?"

Lydia looks up at Stiles who looks doubtful, so she allows herself a small laugh and he smiles too.

"But you can't keep lying to me," He says seriously. "You can't sacrifice MIT for the supernatural," She considers this. "What if you get hurt and I don't know about it?"

"I don't need you to protect me." She says stiffly.

She regrets being so cold with him, but she's stubborn and he knows it. She can never fully allow him to be gentle with her, when she's capable of being blunt, she will be.

"Lyds," He says softly and she's forced to look at him. She knows they aren't kids anymore, she knows that this is serious and now isn't the time to be acting up but she can't help it. "I know you can fend for yourself," He tells her, his eyes determined. He holds onto her hand, and she looks down at them. "It isn't about that. What am I supposed to do if you get hurt?"

She meets his gaze again, unsure if he wants an answer to that question. Maybe the reason she warms towards him is because he's being selfish, for once he's thinking about himself and not her.

"Please, no more secrets, no more lies." He begs and kisses her knuckles affectionately.

Something inside her goes weak because she forgets what it's like when Stiles is around. She forgets what it's like to wind down when she's with him, the only person she can truly be herself with.

"How about this," She turns to him, squeezing his hand. "Every time we want to make sure that the other is telling the truth we say 'relationship'? And if one of us says it we answer truthfully."

"Like pinky-promise we're telling the truth?"

"Exactly," She nods. "Just our version of it."

Stiles looks at her for a moment, as if deciding, then nods.

"Do an example." He asks.

"Okay, ask me something." Lydia shrugs.

"Have you missed any classes at MIT?" He raises his eyebrows at her.

"Only a few."

"Relationship?"

"Relationship." She nods because she's telling the truth, it's only been two or three lessons she's missed, and she can catch up on those. She pecks his lips.

"Okay," He smiles and for once Lydia feels proud of herself for resolving one of their problems, properly. Usually she just has sex with him, not that she minds that. "That's not a bad idea."

"Obviously it's not," She winks at him. "I came up with it."

He smiles at her, his eyes sparkling when he looks at her. She presses her lips to him, tilting her chin upwards to get him at a better angle. She misses being able to do this, kiss him when she pleases and hold him when she wants.

She moves a leg over him, straddling his waist so her jeans are up against his jeans, creating nice friction. His hands fly to her waist, steadying her as their tongues continue dancing. They find it hard to refrain from doing this when they see each other, it's almost like the way they catch up with one another is to kiss or have sex. Not that either of them complains.

Lydia's cardigan has just fell messily to the ground when Stiles' phone starts ringing.

"Ignore it." Lydia murmurs against his lips.

He pecks her then pulls away. "It's Scott."

Lydia sighs and pulls back letting Stiles take the call. She admires the way her red lipstick has tinted Stiles' lips. She reaches a finger out and traces his lips, rubbing at the lipstick that he's fashioning.

"Wait, seriously?" She hears him say so she frowns at him, confused. He holds onto her wrist, stopping her actions. "We'll be right over."

He hangs up and Lydia just wants to scream because they can't even have their first night together.

"What was that about?" Lydia asks as she gets off of his lap and pulls her cardigan on over her top, half disappointed that they didn't continue what the were doing.

"It's Deaton." Stiles shakes his head as if he can't make sense of it. "He's gone missing."

Lydia's heart drops.

* * *

Scott and Stiles' reunion isn't any different than usual. They hug for a long time and Stiles ruffles Scott's hair like a dog, then they smile at each other. Lydia can't help but be jealous when she thinks of how her and Allison deserved that. They deserved a dorm room together or if they didn't go to the same college then they deserved reunions. She tries to forget it.

"So, what do you mean Deatons missing?" Lydia finally asks when they've all settled down in the living room, finding Malia perched on the arm of a chair when they walk in. "Wasn't he just in Seattle with us?"

Scott looks blank, for once, like he doesn't have an answer and he doesn't have a solution.

"I went to the clinic today, I promised I'd help out and-" He looks like he might cry, which is unlike Scott. "He wasn't there. No note. No nothing. He'd left it unlocked. I tried to call him but he didn't answer."

It's silent for a moment.

"What if it's got something to do with Monroe?" Malia speaks up and Lydia's surprised she'd assume that, considering it's Scott.

The pack is silent, all processing the information and the possibilities. All Lydia can wonder is if this is intentional, to hurt Scott, because once you damage the leader there isn't much hope left. The pack painfully learned that when the Dread Doctors were walking around Beacon Hills. It would seem like the perfect way to destroy the pack, for once and for all. Lydia knows they're weaker than Monroe, but she never considered surrendering, not after all the people that died to get them here.

"I know," Scott mutters. As if he already had that idea but didn't want to admit it. "I don't know what to do, or how to get him back or-"

"Scott," Malia says calmly, running a hand up and down his back in comfort. "We'll figure it out."

He nods and falls into her slightly. Although Lydia can never imagine anyone really replacing Allison to Scott, she likes to think Malia is a good place to start.

"What if we don't find him alive?" His voice is a croak and Lydia has never seen the fire die so easily in Scott.

She'd expect determination in him, especially since it's early days. Lydia doesn't know how she's supposed be optimistic when Scott's not. It's not like her and Malia are ever the hopeful ones, they leave it up to the boys because they always know where to find to hope.

"Scotty," Stiles says. "When have we ever found anyone dead?" He gives him a quizzical look. "Let me rephrase, when have we ever found anyone we cared about dead?"

Scott shrugs.

There's a long list for that one, how many people have they found dead? How many people have they watched die while they so helplessly watched? Lydia thinks about piping up, but keeps her mouth shut because if anyone is going to give Scott hope, it's Stiles.

"Exactly, Deaton isn't dead and we aren't going to find him dead." Stiles tells Scott, like he's really sure.

She thinks Scott believes it because he doesn't protest to what he says, just allows Stiles to pull him under his arm. Lydia feels a pang in her chest when she remembers the way Allison used to do that with her.

Although Lydia is unsure if Monroe will keep Deaton alive, if she has him that is. But Lydia believes in Stiles, always has, and she's sure that Stiles would lie to Scott about it. So she trusts him and holds onto it.


	3. Knock, Knock it's Hell

She feels a tickle on the inside of her thigh and she tries to swat it away.

"Ow." Only to find that it's Stiles' damn tongue.

"Can I help you?" She croaks and he laughs lightly.

He presses a butterfly kiss to her thigh again and she presses her head into the pillow. The sensation of his hot breath against her core making a shiver run down her spine.

"I'm sorry about the argument yesterday," He looks up at her and gives her a lopsided grin. "I love you."

Lydia runs a hand through his hair and sighs happily. She feels as though she should be the one apologizing, not the other way around. After all she lied to him. Although, she allows it because he's right here in front of her; all hers for the taking and she isn't going to make matters more awkward.

She sits up, her legs still spread so he can stay nestled between them.

She tugs at his hair and meets his lips. "I love you too."

He smiles against her mouth, bringing a hand around the back of her neck to cradle her head. She feels so much more alive when she wakes up to Stiles, she feels like she has more purpose on this earth other than grieving and working hard. It's good to feel more loved than she actually is, makes her feel worth something.

He pulls back, licking his lower lip which makes her stomach flip, and goes back down to where he was.

Slowly, she leans back onto the mattress and allows him to do his worst. She has no energy to protest or insist that she goes down on him because he makes her weak when he's like this.

His lips are red hot against her and she can't think of a sensation she adores more than this. Her skin against his lips is holy, she feels like she can't breathe when he does this. He wetly trails down to her knee, and she can feel his smile against her skin when she lets out a sigh when he bites then sucks.

She forgets what it's like to wake up to this, to him.

She forgets what being in a relationship is like when she hasn't seen him. She has to give herself to him as much as he does, she doesn't mind it.

He kisses back up to her thigh, his nose tucks into the gap between her thigh and her burning heat. He's teasing her, and she doesn't think she can hold out, it's been weeks. His breath so close to her is teasing enough that she can feel her stomach knotting in anticipation.

"Stiles," Lydia runs a hand through his hair. "Please do something."

He pulls off, quirking an eyebrow at her. "What's the matter? Can't deal with the teasing?"

She groans, her head pressing into her pillow. "Stiles."

He breathes against the lace of her blue panties and she involuntarily presses herself against his face. His breath is scorching against her but she likes it, she loves the tingle that dances through her spine at the sensation of it.

He pulls up and looks at her for a moment, his fingers trailing along her thighs, caressing her hip bones and skimming her folds, making her shiver.

"What are you looking at?" Her voice is raspy and her heart seems to be pounding too fast.

"Your eyes."

"My eyes?"

"Do you need me to say it in Spanish?" He rolls his eyes and a small laugh escapes her.

"Last time I checked you didn't speak Spanish." She smiles, but remembers so clearly the night they were trapped in school where he demonstrated his ability to speak the language.

" _Culo_." He purses his lips.

She laughs again and shakes her head at him. "Knowing what 'ass' means doesn't count."

"It's Spanish isn't it?" She doesn't reply, just rolls her eyes and flops back onto the bed.

He tugs her panties off, deliberately slow, and keeps his eyes intently on hers. She notices how hooded they become when he's aroused and she wonders if hers ever look the same.

"It blows my mind that after all this time you've spent on earth, nobody has ever bothered to tell you that your eyes aren't fucking green." Stiles laughs giddily, his breath fans against her thigh when he speaks.

Her stomach does somersaults at the sight of him, tired, messy and between her thighs talking to her like she really is the only one for him.

"I think you may have mentioned it once or twice." Lydia playfully rolls her eyes.

He does this a lot, talks about the color of her eyes, he makes her feel like she's something extraordinary. She reaches a hand down to scratch through his hair.

"It's emerald against sage and olive. They glow when they water like two perfect orbs the same shade as nature when it rains." He smiles and presses a kiss into her thigh and she shivers.

She's always admired that about Stiles, he can make her feel like something holy. He makes her feel like she's worth everything he puts himself through, like every scar on his body is worth it just to be here, in this moment today.

"They're not as simple as they wanted you to be."

That's what gets Lydia. That's what makes her bring Stiles' face up to hers so she can taste him, so she can pour her love through him in a kiss. When their lips meet this time it's like fireworks and everything wrong in the world seems to be right. Every storm settles and every voice silences in their minds. It's bliss. They anchor each other even when they don't need anchoring.

After their tongues dance for several minutes, they break apart, his lips pink and puffy because of her.

He travels back down to where he was, and finally he presses a kiss against her core. Her heart stammers in her chest and her breath is momentarily knocked out of her lungs because she forgot what that mouth felt like against her. She reaches a hand out to grab onto something, she finds the bed sheets and almost rips them off from pleasure.

She finds it easy to forget about her lessons, the stress of going after the Field's Medal and the worry of putting herself in danger to hunt down Monroe and Gerard, when he's here with her. When it's just the two she remembers how life felt when she had no worries.

She remembers the last summer before everything changed. It was the last summer before Allison came and Scott turned into a werewolf and Stiles wormed his way into her life. The days before then are a blur of cherry lip gloss, Jackson and pretending to be dumb. Bittersweet, she guesses. The last days she had before her life was in constant danger but then if that didn't happen she wouldn't be led in bed with Stiles' mouth against her.

His tongue is creating a rhythm, a steady pattern of swiping up and down and left then right. She feels so full, tension building at the bottom of her stomach as she feels an orgasm build. Helplessly, she pushes herself into his face and when she does so she can feel his nose nudge against her core.

She gasps when his teeth accidentally graze her clit and his lips return to sucking her labia.

She feels herself burning, hot white heat of pleasure and she can feel it in her toes because it's so damn good.

"Stiles," Lydia moans, thankful her mom isn't even in town until Thanksgiving because she would definitely know what they're doing in here.

She feels her body quaking, her legs starting to shake and fly out from Stiles' grip. She can't even remember the last time she came because it's been that long since she's seen him. Her whole body thrums with electricity, and she pushes her head back and stares in wonder at the ceiling.

He doesn't take his mouth off of her, he keeps working at her for a few more minutes until she comes eventually.

It's a shot of pure ecstasy, she can''t even keep her eyes open just whimpers as he brings her down from the high.

Somehow, she still manages to think of how much she wants Stiles inside her. She tells him so.

He rushes for a condom, and normally she'd insist that she goes on top after that, but her orgasm has left her so weak that she isn't sure how she'd be able to do it. So she let's him do it, doesn't even protest.

He hovers above her, his eyes boring into hers as he wets his bottom lip. She reaches up to kiss him, and brings his face down further towards hers. He tastes like her, something Lydia will never get used to when she kisses him.

He gives her a few moments to calm down from her orgasm, then slowly pushes his way into her.

"Holy fucking shit, Lydia." His moan is guttural and makes her legs automatically wrap around his waist.

She's sensitive, her nipple pebbling when he rubs a thumb over it. She doesn't feel like herself, especially when she's fucking Stiles because she's so exposed when it's just him and her. She feels brand new, which always seems the way when Stiles is with her.

Their hips roll together, his length sliding in and out of her expertly. She sighs into the kiss Stiles plants on her lips.

She can feel her muscles coiling, tightening again as he picks up the pace. She can tell he's getting close too, his hair is messily disheveled and his eyes have a really faraway look. He's chasing after his orgasm while bringing one to her.

It doesn't take long, it never does, she comes with a dry sob and gasps as she tries to catch up with herself. Her whole body tingling and glowing because of Stiles.

He comes too, his eyes slam shut and his lips part as his hips shakily slam in and out of her. His forehead pressed against her.

She kisses him when he comes down from his high, and he stays inside her for a while, then when he pulls out he pads over to her bathroom and flushes the condom.

She feels like jelly, her legs weak from the tension the orgasm built and her heart is warming at the sight of Stiles; lazily walking back to her bed, naked. He plops on the sheets and pulls her in under his arm and kisses the top of her head.

She pulls the cover up to her waist, already feeling goosebumps crawl up her legs.

"I don't think I'll ever get used to waking up to you." Lydia says offhandedly, their bare chests pressed against one another.

She wasn't actually supposed to say it, she doesn't like what love makes her do, so she bites her lip the minute it slips out of her mouth.

"Really?" He says almost uncertainly, like he doesn't realize the effect he has on Lydia.

"But I guess I should get used to it, right?" She whispers, her fingers gently tracing the word love on his chest over and over.

He looks at her expectantly, waiting for her to say something else, except she doesn't know how. All she knows is that she loves him, more than she should've allowed herself really, and she wants to be with him for as long as this shitty world will allow them.

"Lydia, are you proposing?" Stiles fakes shock, his mouth growing into a wide grin.

Lydia shrugs, places a lasting kiss on his lips. "You can cook."

"You wanna wife me?" He grins stupidly and Lydia shrugs shyly. "You have no idea how much I love you."

"By what we were doing ten minutes ago, I'd say otherwise." Lydia giggles.

Stiles kisses the tip of her nose, affectionately and she can feel heat creep into her cheeks. She almost hates it when he's so gentle and kind to her, she isn't used to it when it comes to relationships. It makes her realize that this isn't a dead end relationship, this will go somewhere.

And she wants it to.

They stay silent for a while, and Lydia rolls over so she can breathe a bit better. His arm slung low on her hips and she allows herself to close her eyes and think of Deaton.

Part of her wants to believe that he hasn't actually gone, that maybe Liam and Mason needed his help somewhere and that's where he is. She pushes the thought down when she reminds herself he most definitely would've left a note or called Scott. She thinks that he has to be safe, it's Deaton. Even when he was kidnapped by the Darach they still found him, alive. Not safe, but alive. And that's all what mattered.

"Hmm, I need a shower." Lydia murmurs as she closes her eyes, trying to block out any image of Deaton being alone somewhere, dying.

"You need sleep." Stiles whispers, holding her tighter.

She smiles, let's herself drift in and out of a nap, she can shower when her and Stiles are more awake.

* * *

Lydia's jolted awake when she hears a thud come from downstairs. She knows it's not her mom, she would've called if she was coming back early.

She doesn't have deep sleeps like she used to. Her life has been ruined because of the supernatural, she's traumatized and paranoid all the time. Half awake whenever she's supposed to be asleep.

"Stiles," She whispers, turns around to face him. She kicks his shin. "Stiles."

"Sleeping."

"Someone's in the house." She hisses, his eyes snap open and his grip tightens around her.

"Like who?"

"You think I know?" She looks over at the door and then back at Stiles.

Her heart starts racing when she realizes it could be a hunter, maybe the one she shot in the legs, coming to find her and finish her off. It oddly depresses her, dying naked.

"What do we do?" He asks, in a sort of hazed panic.

They hear a thump right outside the door, and Lydia instinctively curls herself into a ball, making herself smaller. The door bursts open, and she half expects to see Monroe and Gerard stood there, rifles poised. Or to see Deaton, bloodied and bruised. But it's Scott and Malia.

They tumble in, Malia laughing and Scott looking mortified as he notices Stiles and Lydia in bed. In a blind panic, Lydia scrambles for the sheets, covering her naked body as best as she can. She leaves Stiles defenseless, his hand covering himself so that they can't see.

He's kneeling on the bed and Lydia is sat cross-legged clutching the sheets to her chest.

"Fuck." Malia laughs. "We're so sorry!"

"Why are you in my house?" Lydia demands, wanting to laugh at the sight of Stiles next to her.

Stiles' cheeks are pink and she can see it creeping up his neck, too.

"Spare key?" Scott winces.

"Can we help you?" Stiles asks, his eyebrows raised and when Scott looks like he might cry of laughter he throws him a pair of shorts that were on the floor.

He puts them on awkwardly, turning around so no-one can see.

"We were wondering if you wanted to go look for Deaton." Scott turns serious and the smile on Lydia's face falters.

She feels bad when she slightly enjoys herself, she thinks Malia feels the same too. Her face what was once fashioning a smile is in her usual frown.

"You couldn't of called?" Lydia reaches over to the end of the bed and chucks on Stiles' flannel.

"We thought this way you couldn't say no." Malia gives a quick smirk, but it vanishes as quick as it came.

Stiles lets out a snort when he looks at Malia. As he does so, there's another thud from downstairs. This time it's heavier, like someone who's hundred's of pounds of muscle with big combat boots on. It sounds like a hunter.

"Did you hear that?" Lydia stares at Malia and Scott as they focus their hearing.

Malia looks around confused, counts each of them. "We're all here."

They all begin creeping towards her bedroom door, careful on their feet. For all they know it could be an armed thief. Or it could be a hunter, who would also be armed. Lydia isn't sure which one she'd rather.

They make it to the top of the stairs when Stiles puts an arm out in front of Lydia, stopping her in her tracks.

"What are you doing?" She whispers to Stiles, watching Malia peer around the corner to see who's stood in Lydia's living room.

She looks at him, stood there perfectly in only his boxer shorts. He looks like something out of Calvin Klein magazine, but in a messy way; his hair ruffled, lips glistening and eyes slightly hazy. She doesn't know why she does this to herself, makes herself more weak and less resilient.

"You can't go down there like that."

She takes a step back, eyebrows raised in question.

"You're unarmed."

"Then you can't go down there, either." She shrugs and makes a turn for her room.

He grabs her arm, stopping her and she turns back around.

"Lyds," He sighs. Without thinking about it she steps closer. "Not this, again."

"Scott and Malia are down there, we'll be safe. I'll be safe." Lydia bumps her forehead against his and tries to smile.

She doesn't wait for a reply, which she knows may lead to another argument, just starts hopping down the stairs. Stiles follows her a second after but comes to a stop when he sees what Lydia is looking at.

She wasn't quite expecting to see her, but she isn't all that surprised either.

Stood in front of her, clear as scent, is Monroe.

Her brown skin is glowing, her cheek bones prominent, as usual. She can't remember the last time she saw Monroe, over a few months, she thinks. Her hair is shorter but still curled tightly on her head. Lydia thinks she's gotten thinner because her collar bones stick out beneath her top and her eyes look a little sunken. She doesn't look too well, but from the red lipstick painted on her lips and the eyelashes coated in mascara, makes Lydia think that she's made an effort to look healthy. Even if she's not.

"I wasn't aware I invited you," Lydia speaks first, breaking the silence. She smiles sweetly. "Get the fuck out of my house."

Monroe smiles, amused. "If I leave now, I guess you won't want to know where Deaton is?"

She admires her nails as she speaks, and Scott visibly tenses. "Do you have him?"

"Come on, Scott." She smiles, tilting her head and steps closer to them. "How dumb are you?"

A silence settles over the room, and Lydia is slightly conscious of her lack of clothes. She isn't even wearing underwear, and Stiles is stood next to her in only his boxers. They must look real intimidating.

"Do you have Deaton, yes or no?" Scott grits his teeth.

Monroe offers them a smile. "Do you have Gerard?"

"Gerard?" Stiles repeats, confusion written on all their brows.

Isn't Gerard with Monroe? Lydia had half expected him to be lurking behind a wall and jump out if things became physical. But it seems Monroe hasn't the slightest clue where he is.

Something about Monroe's face drops, like she'd half expected them to have Gerard hid in Lydia's room- gagged and hands tied. It intrigues Lydia, they must have Deaton because Monroe thinks they have Gerard. Theoretically, Deaton will come back unharmed. Theoretically.

"You don't have him?" Monroe sounds choked. Lydia notices her hands beginning to tremble.

Maybe they could use this to their advantage, Lydia thinks.

"Of course we have him," Lydia speaks. She doesn't miss the way Malia shoots her an odd glance, not quite following where she's going with this. "We know you have Deaton because of it."

"Where is he?" Monroe demands, her voice raising abruptly.

Lydia needs to be careful with this, they all do. If they say they're torturing him, who knows what they'll do to Deaton. It's messy, very messy, and has the potential to get worse. If anything happens to Deaton because of a poorly planned plan, Scott will be devastated. He'd forgive Lydia for this, she knows that, but she won't forgive herself. And that's much worse.

"He's safe," Lydia nods. "For now."

Monroe looks like she could kill them but underneath her facade, she's relieved. "What do you want with him?"

"You give us Deaton, and Gerard is all yours." Stiles speaks up, stepping forward.

Lydia can't think of a time where she's loved him more, their eyes share the plan, they don't even have to speak. He's on board with her and that's what she needs in a time like this.

Monroe eyes him up then her eyes skip over to Scott. Maybe it's uncertainty she senses.

"You don't even have him, do you?" Monroe snarls because she's cracked them already.

But Lydia's determined, she won't let her believe it for a second.

From the waist band of her pants she reveals a gun, and Lydia's heart stops. Instinctively, she pushes Stiles behind her but he holds onto her hand and drags her back too. She aims the gun at Scott, then points to Malia, then Lydia, then Stiles and repeats it in a cycle. Taunting each of them.

"Why wouldn't we? Where else would he be?" Lydia speaks. She isn't quite sure where all this confidence is coming from, but she likes it, makes her feel brand new.

"Stop lying!" She wavers the gun and Stiles steps out in front of Lydia.

Damn him for being so protective.

Lydia doesn't predict it, but Malia runs out from Scott's side and attempts to start clawing at Monroe. She would've hoped Malia would of caused at least some damage, but Monroe seems pretty invincible. She fights her, fist raising to connect with Malia's temple. Malia doesn't see it coming, instead she's knocked out cold with blood running from her head. Lydia forgets how less angry Malia looks when she's sleeping.

Scott rushes over to Malia, cowering over her and propping her head up on his knees. She'll heal, sooner or later. But right now it's just the humans against the hunter.

Gradually, Monroe approaches closer to them, her boots creating an echoing thump. She's twirling her gun in her hand, carelessly, and Stiles has his arm around Lydia from where he's stood in front. She knows she should put him behind her, but she allows him to put himself on the line. Just this once. She doesn't want to admit it's because she's scared.

She stops in front of them, eyeing Stiles up. Their faces are close, close enough that she can imagine Stiles feeling Monroe's breath against his skin.

"If you hurt Gerard," Monroe speaks. "Or if you're lying for your own damn good, don't you dare underestimate my ability to take away a life, no matter how innocent."

Something in Lydia goes weak, scared for Stiles, scared for Deaton. She's wrapped them up in a lie that might not be so easy to get out of, but she supposes, that's what you do for the people you care about.

"You heard what Lydia said earlier, get the fuck out of her house." Stiles tells her calmly. She fucking loves Stiles.

She nods, but not before staring Lydia down, like she might be able to tell if she's lying or not.

Calmly, Monroe walks to the door with her head held high and walks straight through the door. She doesn't even look back.


	4. She Should've Stayed in Bed

Lydia doesn't sleep that night.

She knows she shouldn't be worrying about Deaton to this extent, but she can't help it. She seems to of dug herself a hole, and while she was at it, dragged Stiles, Scott and Malia in with her. She's suffocating; her own thoughts wrapping around her brain like vines and there is no escape.

She can't think of a way to accumulate Gerard, so there's no way about Monroe; she'll know Lydia lied. And Lydia believes her threat. No matter how many layers of makeup Lydia wears, or how high her heels are, or if Stiles is stood in front of her, she's still a scared little girl. She's terrified of what Monroe might do to Deaton.

How would Lydia ever be able to forgive herself if she let Deaton get hurt? Would Scott ever get over it?

She sighs and turns to look at the clock, her eyes feeling tired but her mind buzzing awake. It's only three in the morning, there's still time for sleep but Lydia knows how useless that is. She's tossed and turned so many times she feels like she's shaped herself into a pretzel. She's shocked at how Stiles has stayed asleep. Usually, he wakes up when Lydia fidgets too much.

But clearly he's not waking up tonight.

She turns again, this time facing Stiles. She gets a little obsessed with how much younger he looks when he's sleeping. What seems to be the permanent crease on his forehead is perfectly smoothed out, showing no signs of worry or stress. His skin looks deeper in tone, but that's probably the lack of light, and more moles seem to be scattered across his neck. His eyelashes run for days, brushing is cheekbones.

He's beautiful in such an obvious way, she wonders why he had such a hard time with girls in High School.

Without thinking, she lazily lifts a hand to his face and traces his forehead, making sure the lines really had disappeared. Her thumb catches on his eyelid and she thinks his eye twitches underneath her. Then, she drags her nails along his neck, gently covering every mole and freckle his body is covered in.

She doesn't realize how much this life has effected him, he has too many anxieties a guy his age should have. He's lost too much. He's seen too much. Lydia often wonders if he was much different before Scott turned. But she can't imagine Stiles being anyway he is now.

"What're you doing?" Stiles mumbles, his voice low and croaky.

She jumps slightly, she wasn't expecting him to wake up that easily. "Sorry I woke you."

"It's fine, I can't sleep with you turning over every two minutes." He tells her in a whisper and nuzzles her neck.

"Sorry I kept you awake, then." Lydia murmurs as she feels Stiles' hot breath against her skin. "I can't sleep."

"I can tell." His voice is tired and Lydia has more guilt flood through her. "What helps you sleep?"

Lydia shrugs, she feels warmer now, more snug, more relaxed and more sleepy. She nudges her way under his arm, so his arm brackets her head. She slings a hand low on his hip, teasing the skin there and she thinks maybe he's doing the same.

She's suddenly too tired to function.

She doesn't think about Deaton or Monroe. She doesn't even answer Stiles' question. His warmth is enough to let her go to sleep and she happily does so.

* * *

It isn't until she's eating lunch that day with Stiles, Scott and Malia, that she allows her mind to drift back to Deaton.

She knows she shouldn't.

She's scared if Deaton's locked in some basement now, being hurt. What if he isn't being fed? If he's being tortured Lydia isn't sure how she'll get over this one, it's not as easy as a death, she supposes. If Deaton makes it out of this alive, he has to deal with the paranoia of being captured again, the sleepless nights and the flashbacks.

But then, is Lydia feeling guilty about Deaton being hurt or about Scott's opinion of Lydia? Lydia's fucked up with Scott, she's surprised he let her in the pack because she used to treat him like shit, she's aware of that. Now Scott sees her the way he sees all his pack: brave, selfless and courageous. Or does he still see her as the Queen Bee? The silly girl who spent an hour on her hair and two hours on her makeup?

Maybe he's waiting for her to fuck up, and now she's finally done it. She's told Monroe they have Gerard when they don't. Didn't she think about the consequences?

She fidgets too much at the table in the diner they met at. Her knees knock into Malia's every three minutes and her elbow bumps Stiles' every time she twirls her fork in her salad. She avoids Scott's eye. Too scared of what she'll see if she meets it.

She doesn't eat much of her salad, she picks at it, slowly chews chicken pieces and finds it hard to swallow. She's being too obvious with her guilt. Stiles, for sure is going to tell somethings wrong if she carries on. She's surprised Malia and Scott haven't picked up chemo signals yet.

Her signs of over-thinking may as well be written on her forehead; she didn't sleep much, isn't eating, keeps fidgeting. She needs to dial it down, keep her paranoia in otherwise she might worry Stiles.

Or she needs to find a solution.

They need to track Gerard, it's the only way to ensure Deaton stays alive and-

"Are you finished with that?" The waitress interrupts her thoughts.

She looks up blankly at her, she smiles patiently, and Lydia nods dropping her fork.

She watches the waitress walk away and ignores Stiles' gaze.

"Lyds, you with me?" Stiles puts a hand on her thigh, squeezing slightly.

She looks up at him, his eyes making it hard to lie. "Of course I am." He raises his eyebrows at her. "I'm just tired."

"Are you sure that's it?" He squeezes her thigh again. "Relationship?"

Damn. She was hoping he wouldn't use that because she isn't sure she has it in her to lie about it. Especially since it seems to be the trust foundation of their relationship right now.

"It's just the whole Deaton thing." She shrugs, because it isn't a complete lie. "Relationship."

Stiles quickly pecks her lips and settles back in his chair, his hand warmly placed on her thigh. She's thankful he doesn't question it anymore. It's hard lying to Stiles, it's not that he sees right through her, although he does. It's that he deserves the truth, after everything he does for her, the least she can do is tell him the truth. All she ever wants to do is cut open her mind and let him live in it sometimes, just so she doesn't have to push him away.

Because that's what she does.

She pushes everyone away. She feels herself doing it with Stiles, it's just a good job he's determined, otherwise she'd be long gone by now.

"Speaking of the Deaton thing," Malia buts in. "What the hell are we going to do?"

Lydia looks at Scott, possibly for the first time this afternoon.

"What can we do?" Scott runs a hand through his hair. "We don't have Gerard. They do have Deaton, so we gotta get him."

"So is it like, mission 'save Lydia from Eichen House'?" Stiles asks, his thumb rubs in circles on Lydia's thigh. She relaxes slightly.

"Does this mean it's one of your plans?" Malia winces.

"Dear God, help us all." Lydia mutters and Stiles looks at her, mocking insult.

They stay quiet for a while and Lydia has to focus on the warmth radiating from Stiles unless her mind will drift to Deaton.

Malia makes a face, looking at Lydia. "You smell funny."

Lydia hopes her face doesn't go visibly red. "You don't smell to great yourself."

"No, like chemo signals." Malia sniffs and looks at Scott.

Lydia doesn't need this right now, if they smell guilt Stiles will know she partially lied to him. She doesn't want to hurt him.

"It's just the whole thing with Deaton," Lydia cuts in before Scott has a chance to say anything."You think Monroe will kill him?" She tries to make it casual, but comes out a little breathless.

"I think she's bluffing," Scott raises a shoulder. "Deaton can help her as much as he helps us."

Lydia thinks about it for a moment, maybe he is right. Maybe Deaton isn't being hung from his hands and being tortured but perhaps he's being treated well because he's giving them advice. Like an emissary. Because that's what he is, after all. Lydia holds onto to that hope, she has to believe it otherwise she might go mad.

"So you think he'll be alright?" Lydia asks, she needs reassurance so she can feel less guilty.

"We can hope." Scott nods and Stiles squeezes her thigh as if he's trying to physically send her faith.

* * *

She's falling in the darkness. She's like Alice in Wonderland, falling down the rabbit hole, except she Alice. It's too dark and she can't see a thing, only able to feel the rush of cold air that's going through her body.

She doesn't know where she is, or how she got here, but she's frightened and alone.

Her back connects with something hard, knocking the breath out of her lungs. She chokes for air, her whole body tingling from the impact of landing. She still can't see anything, so she uses her hands to find something that might give her a clue on where she is.

She reaches her hand out to her left, only to find more concrete but in the form of stairs. She turns, falls down another step and lands on her nose. Another shot of pain darts through her.

She brings her knees up and pushes them underneath her body, standing up. She feels her body sway, dizziness threatening her to fall over. She closes her eyes and draws in a deep breath, she needs to gather her surroundings. How did she get here in the first place?

Tentatively, she lowers her foot into the unknown, hoping to find another step. She does. With more confidence now, she runs down the rest of the steps, the cold air making her feel more awake the farther she runs down.

The steps run for days and there's still no light, although her eyes adjust slightly.

It's minutes, maybe hours until she hears something. A voice. A scream. A muffle. She isn't sure what it is, everything is distorted, but she carries on down the last few steps. She starts running when the concrete beneath her is a solid path, with no dips or steps carved in them.

"Hello?" She risks it, call out into the oblivion.

It echoes back at her, bouncing off the dark walls as if taunting her. No-ones here. She doesn't know where she is. She's stuck.

"Help me!" She hears someone scream. A boy. A man. Definitely.

She runs faster, she ignores it when her lungs burn for air, her legs unable to keep up with her.

"Hello?" She yells again, breathless this time.

"I'm here!" The same voice again, only this time it's more familiar.

It's distinct, like she's heard it a thousand times. Her blood runs cold when she realizes it sounds exactly like Stiles. She sprints with her arms spreading out feeling the walls, hoping for a turn that might lead her somewhere.

It's hours, definitely hours when she comes to an abrupt stop after seeing a small dim light in the distant. She bends over, hands on her knees as she gulps in air. Her hair falls in a curtain around her, trying to catch her breath. Trying to work out how she got here. She must've hit her head because that's the only logical explanation for her memory loss.

She lifts her head up, going slightly dizzy again and focuses her eyes ahead of her. The light is closer now, even though she hasn't moved. She starts towards it again, her speed increasing the closer she gets, determined. It's not as long this time, but when she reaches the scene a scream rips from her throat.

In front of her eyes, Stiles sits in a chair, gagged and hands tied behind his back. He's screaming through the gag and his body is thrashing around as he tries to break free. Lydia lunges herself at him, only to be met by a pair of hands restraining her. She thrashes, almost as violently as he is, trying to shake off the hands around her.

"Let go of me-" She screams only to be cut off by a hand being thrown over her mouth.

She bites the palm of the hand, it's dirty and tastes like blood.

"This is all your fault." A whisper in her ear says.

The voice is gruff, croaky and deep. No doubt a mans. She could pin point it anywhere; it's in her nightmares, the dark corners of her mind. It's everywhere it shouldn't be. It's Gerard.

She twists around, her elbow slamming into his stomach. She gets a look at his face, it's old and wrinkled, like always. Black blood is oozing from orifices in his face, turning his teeth black when he opens his mouth.

"Let him go." Lydia grits out of her teeth, they're staring at one another, neither daring to make a move.

"Don't you see what you've already done, Lydia?" He snarls, spitting out blood when he speaks. "He's already dead."

Lydia whips around to look at Stiles, she finds him in the same position as before, tied up and gagged. He looks vulnerable, his eyes red from crying, hair disheveled and a cut above his eyebrow. He's a mess, she wants to make an armor out of her skin and protect him for as long as he'll let her.

"I said, let him go." Lydia tells him again, this time her voice more powerful.

Gerard tilts his head at her. "And what about Deaton?"

Lydia frowns and turns back around, this time to see Deaton in another corner. He's in the same state as Stiles, he's sat in a chair with a black gag tied around his mouth and his hands locked behind him. One eye is swollen and he has a bruise on one side of his temple.

"What about him?" Lydia lifts her head up and ignores the flame of panic that had began to ignite in her chest. "Let them both go."

"Lydia, when have I ever given someone what they wanted?" Gerard smiles. "Pick one to save."

She starts trembling, her bottom lip wobbling. Her worst fear ever has come to light. She has to chose, she's going to look selfish, she's going to be labelled as a selfish little girl. She isn't like that anymore, maybe if she was sixteen and still in love with Jackson she might be. But she's grown so much since then, and she'll be damned if she's seen as anything else but brave.

"Kill me," Lydia shrugs. "Let both of them go."

"That wasn't an option."

"I don't care."

At this point, Stiles is going wild. He's screaming and crying, moving his body side to side so he can attempt to get free. Her heart warms at him, he's so fiercely loyal she isn't sure she's met anyone like him. Actually, she knows she hasn't.

She doesn't want to hurt him, she doesn't want to leave him. She's hoping an opportunity arises to set them all free, to get out of here alive.

"Now, Lydia. There's no escaping this trap." His mouth is in a hard line, like usual.

Lydia often wondered how someone like Allison was related to Gerard.

"Choose."

She begins crying, she doesn't want to though, this is unlike her. She never lets her walls down, always builds up a barrier so that she doesn't cry easily. She has a huge amount of pride, the only person she lets see through that is Stiles.

She turns to Gerard and ignores the cries of Stiles. Deaton is oddly quiet.

"And what if I don't choose?"

"I'll kill them both." The air gets knocked out of her lungs. "Don't underestimate my ability to take away a life, no matter how innocent."

The room sways around her and she stumbles back, feeling like she's been drugged. He had repeated exactly what Monroe had said. Did Monroe know he was here, now?

Then he reaches into his coat and pulls out a gun, clicking the bullet into the chamber. As Lydia's watching, she notices something that shouldn't be there, on his hand. As his fingers curl around the trigger of the gun, one by one, she realizes she's counted six fingers. She's dreaming.

This is a dream, Lydia. Wake up.

Her eyes frantically search Stiles', for guidance she assumes, but she knows she won't find any. She's dreaming and she needs to wake up, as soon as she can. For the life of her, she cannot remember how to wake herself up.

"Pick one," Gerard raises his gun. "Then you'll wake up."

She can save Deaton and watch Stiles die. She can pick Stiles, be selfish and wake up. It's a dream; she can choose trauma or guilt.

She's Lydia Martin, she carries the weight of the world on her shoulders and never lets anyone aware of it. She smiles even when she doesn't want to. She never cries. She never lets anyone know how vulnerable she is.

She lifts her head high and squarely looks at Gerard.

"Stiles." Lydia hates herself for even dreaming this up. "I save Stiles."

She turns to watch them, the odd calmness of Deaton but the craziness of Stiles. Then, Lydia understands why. She hears a gunshot go off and watches the bullet pass straight through Stiles' head.

He's already dead.

* * *

"Lydia!" It's Stiles, bringing her back from her reeling nightmare. "Lydia, Lydia look at me!"

She realizes she's screaming, somewhat of a beast ripping out of her throat, burning it raw. Her lungs protesting when she can't seem to stop it.

"Hey," Stiles says, pinning her shoulders down as she thrashes around the bed, kicking the sheets to the floor. "Hey, look at me."

She hazily looks at him, notices his tired eyes and ruffled hair, and something inside her calms down slightly. The scream dies out in her mouth and her throat begins throbbing, along with her head.

She relaxes under the weight of his hands, her mind going black.

He shakes her shoulder. "Lydia." His voice is full of concern.

It comes back to her in a flash. She remembers falling, running, Gerard, Stiles, Deaton, the gunshot, the scream. She remembers choosing Stiles and letting Deaton die. It runs through her head like a movie and she begins shaking from fear. Or from guilt.

Her own subconscious had chosen to save Stiles over Deaton. She was selfish. She didn't consider Scott or anyone who loves Deaton. She's selfish.

"I had a bad dream," Lydia mumbles as she sits up. "Sorry."

Stiles runs a hand between Lydia's shoulder blades, making shushing noises to comfort her.

"Hey, don't apologize for that." Stiles offers her a weak smiles. "Wanna talk about it?"

Lydia looks at him and notices the shadows that are cast beneath his eyes. A wave of guilt washes over her when she realizes how Stiles has had two sleepless nights because of her. She almost considers telling him how afraid she is that Monroe may hurt Deaton. Although something inside her gets the best of her and she closes her mouth.

"Sometimes it helps." Stiles tells her, holding her hand and giving it a squeeze.

"I was running," She swallows hard. "And then I found you tied to a chair, with Deaton."

"You dreamed about Deaton?" Stiles' brow furrows. "Does that mean something?"

Lydia's heart drops, she hadn't even considered it being a premonition.

"I hope not."

"What else happened?"

"Gerard was there too, he was the reason you were tied to the chair." Lydia doesn't meet his eye, she can't. "And I had to choose."

"Choose?"

"I had to pick either you or Deaton to live." She feels her lip tremble and she doesn't mean for the tears to fall out of her eyes, but they do.

His arm cradles around her head and she presses against his bicep, breathing in the cleanliness of his shirt. She can feel his pulse, reminding her he's alive and doesn't have a bullet in between his eyes.

"And I chose you," Lydia mutters into his skin. "I let Deaton die."

She says it almost like a secret, she'd choose Stiles in any reality. It's Stiles, after all.

He pulls her face close to his. "It was a dream."

"But Gerard shot you anyway," She continues, tears streaming down her face. "He shot you to prove how selfish I am."

He strokes her hair, pressing a kiss to her temple. "I'm here and I'm okay."

She lets him talk to her like that for a while, he whispers softly in her ear and touches her gently where she'll allow him, until she stops crying. Her sobs turn to small hiccups, her hair matted to her face from the tears. She looks at him properly, noticing how drained he looks.

"I promise you, you are not selfish." He takes her hands in his and rubs his thumb across her knuckles. "You are anything but that."

She feels like she's going to cry again, but not because of her dream, more because Stiles is being so gentle and calm with her. She needs tough love sometimes, or so she thinks, because she doesn't like crying. It makes her look weak and makes her feel useless. She's emotionally dependent on Stiles, and it makes her feel awful. She wants to be strong and powerful, but how can she be when she's so easily broken?

"Stiles," Lydia eventually speaks. "Do you think my dream meant something?"

"I hope not," Stiles scratches his neck, mirroring her words from before. "I don't plan on dying anytime soon."

Lydia knows he's trying to joke, but she doesn't smile.

"Promise me?"

"I promise." Stiles nods.

She knows it's stupid because he can't promise what fate has in store for them all, but she allows herself to trust him. She settles down onto the pillows, Stiles joining her by her side.

"Stiles?"

"Lydia."

"Did you mean that," Lydia looks at him in the dark. "That I'm selfless?"

"Why would I lie?" His eyebrows drawn together.

"I don't know," Lydia answers lamely, sleep tugging at her. "I just don't think it's true."

Stiles pulls her closer, kissing her forehead gently. "You're one of them most selfless people I know, and I love you for it."

The second the words fall out his mouth, she's pulled into a dreamless sleep.


	5. Hallelujah, My Ass

Ever since Lydia had stepped into the store, she felt someone watching them. Maybe it was the tingle on her neck as she walked through the sliding doors or maybe it's the cold shiver that runs down her spine as she talks to Stiles. But it isn't right. She feels uncomfortable, to say the least.

"Stiles, we are not buying that jumbo pack of Reese's Pieces." Lydia rolls her eyes as she determinedly pushes the cart down the aisle, she tries to ignore the odd feeling.

"But-"

"We're here because Melissa asked us to buy the food for Thanksgiving." Lydia stops when they come across the turkeys.

"Lydiaaa." He whines, his mouth tugging down into a frown.

She turns to look at him and offers him an unsympathetic smile, admiring his face for a brief moment.

"I said no," Lydia accentuates every word. "Now pick out a damn turkey."

He rolls his eyes and runs a hand over his face, then turns to look at the turkeys. He sifts the same hand up through his hair as his eyes skim the chilled shelves. Lydia thinks she spots a new mole beneath his ear.

"Why are you looking at me and not the fine poultry?" He questions, not even turning to look at her.

She shakes her head at him, turning to look at the food. She isn't sure what she's supposed to be looking at, how is she supposed to know a good turkey from a bad one? So she allows Stiles to pick various ones up, before settling on one that Lydia is sure won't even fit in the cooker.

"You trying to end world hunger?" Lydia mutters as they progress out of the aisle, this time toward the vegetables.

Stiles chooses to ignore this, and carries on with a hand on the bottom of Lydia's back.

Lydia's always enjoyed thanksgiving, she loves the excuse to eat lots of food, spend time with family and pretend that life's good. She also takes it as her chance to thank God that he didn't take everyone away from her. She has Stiles, the first boy who made her come when he ate her out. She has Scott, her leader and her savior. She has her mom, fragile even after all these years without her dad. She's thankful.

Although, she isn't thankful when she remembers Deaton is missing or that she's spun herself a web of lies to protect her and the pack from Monroe. She isn't sure it will do much protecting though. And she isn't thankful when she feels she's being watched, not to mention the same stranger in a black-hooded jacket has been in the same aisle as them, twice now.

She's drawn away from her thoughts when Stiles is patting her all over.

She quirks an eyebrow at him. "This isn't the type of place to be doing that. "

"Where's that damn list?" He mutters as he slides his hand into her back jean pocket.

She smiles at him breifly as he takes advantage of the moment and squeezes her ass gently. She uncurls her hand. "Here."

He finds the paper crumpled and snatches it from her palm. She'd been scrunching it up trying to hide her nerves, she doesn't want to worry Stiles.

"Brussel Sprouts? Really?" His faces scrunches up into a knot.

"My mom taught me a trick on how to make them real good, you know?"

"Is it where you don't actually serve them?"

"Just you wait and see, Stilinski." She winks at him and starts shoveling carrots into a food bag.

They buy half the vegetables in the store, even more than what Melissa originally put on the list. She thinks that they're trying to make it better than it actually is, that Deaton's life isn't in danger or that everyone they've ever lost will be attending. But she doesn't question it. It takes her mind off of it, the fact that another life is in danger and it's down to them to sort it out. It's always up to them.

They buy the ingredients for the dessert too, pumpkin pie. It's also down to them to make it because foolishly, Lydia had offered to help out for this Thanksgiving when it was last Thanksgiving. So Lydia was stuck, and she dragged Stiles down with her. They buy alcohol, using fake ID's that they've had since they were sixteen, thanks for that one Danny.

They go to the checkout and Lydia dazedly watches the cashier scan their items. Her hairs and nerves standing on edge, ready for attack. She wonders if she should tell Stiles, maybe that might be the safest option. Maybe he'll freak out and he'll get hurt. She decides that she's looking to much into it.

"You're thinking." Stiles says lowly, in her ear.

"Pondering."

"Over-thinking."

"Reflecting."

"You're obsessing, I don't know what about but whatever it is, it can be fixed." She can't even look at him.

So she just rolls her eyes and ignores him. Of course she's over-thinking and obsessing. She hasn't been able to stop thinking ever since they found out Deaton was missing. She still can't shake the image of Stiles being shot, in her dream. Shamefully, she knows how selfish she was in her dream. She hates herself for it.

Stiles can sense it, he senses it every night before she goes to bed because he holds her so gently like she's made of glass. She doesn't hate him for treating her like that, but she hates that that's the illusion she's painted of herself. She's insane, can't go for more than a week without having a nightmare. She's selfish, willing to let someone else die so she can have Stiles, forever. And she's guilty. Always, always guilty because now Deaton's fate relies on having Gerard. They don't have Gerard. She isn't sure they ever will get him. That makes her wonder how they'll get Deaton back, makes her wonder if there's any hope for them, at all.

She can't stop thinking or obsessing because she feels danger creeping up from her toes and making its way in the pit of her stomach. She can feel a pair of eyes burn into the back of her head when she really wants to feel Stiles' eyes burn bright in her own.

They pay for their items, the bill total more than they would've liked to hope, but Melissa gave her credit card for them to use anyway.

They stack the bags in the shopping cart and Stiles rolls it out of the shop, leisurely talking about how he almost burned his dorm room down when he was making toast the other day.

They pile the bags in the back of his jeep and when they're finished there's almost no room.

Then Lydia has a weird feeling wash over her, like an omen. Something a little worse than the feeling of being watched, more like the feeling of being in danger. The feeling of being violated, physically.

"Lyds, you okay?" Stiles asks as he manually locks the trunk of his jeep.

"Yeah, I just-"

He turns to look at her, doing a double take. His amber eyes grow wide and his mouth begins opening.

"Hey, hey watch out!" He yells, his hands gripping her wrists and yanking her forward.

She doesn't get chance to register what's happening, instead his scared eyes are the last thing she looks at before the world goes black.

* * *

Stiles always used to tell Lydia that she looked a lot less angry whenever she's asleep but Lydia could never tell Stiles that when his eyes are closed he looks five years younger.

Maybe that's why she always finds herself in situations like this, where she's knocked out cold and there's nothing she can do about it. She doesn't tell Stiles.

At first she thinks she's gone blind because all she can see is darkness, a fuzzy background of black. But then a glint of light catches her eye and she knows she's just somewhere dark. There's little room, her hands and feet both tied. There's tape on her mouth, no chance of screaming. They know she's a banshee. Whoever it is who kidnapped her.

Her stomach drops. What if they have Stiles? What if they've killed him?

She jolts from side to side without doing anything herself, so she figures she's in a car. She has to be, considering the lack of room she has.

Violently, she slams into a side of the trunk. She moves her body so that her nose touches one side of the trunk, she tries to kick out a headlight but her feet feel to heavy, especially when they're tied.

Her eyes squeeze shut as she tries to figure out what to do.

She can feel the lack of room pump up her body temperature and slowly feels the oxygen run out.

She turns back around, trying to make her movements as quiet as possible. She attempts to focus her eyes and tries to look for the trunk release. She read an article about all American cars having a trunk release ever since a law being passed in 2002. Her hands, tied behind her back, fumble behind her for a toggle or a latch. To no avail. The bastard must've covered it up.

She begins screaming, as best as she can through her taped mouth.

Maybe Scott could hear her, if he's with Stiles surely he'll be out on the look for her. His supernatural hearing will be peak, attuned to a level he isn't used to. Anything to save his best friend, surely.

Or Stiles might not be with him, Stiles might be in another car; handcuffed, gagged and bruised. She shivers, shakes her head and blinks into the darkness. She can't think straight, her mind swirling and swaying.

She's breathless from screaming, and she doesn't want the tears to fall, but they do. She sobs and squeezes her eyes shut, feeling sorry for herself.

Her life has been a whirlpool of supernatural disasters and tragedies since she was sixteen. The minute Allison came into Beacon Hills High, there was no going back. She'd involved Lydia into something without realizing it, they'd both paid the prices in their own ways.

She's fed up of this.

Th grief, the trauma, the bruises, the blood, the heartache, the crying, the screaming, the loss.

It aches. Her whole body aches with exhaustion of having to live a life like this. She wants out, she's wanted out since she lost nine pounds from walking around the woods naked. Except she can't find the way out. She's never been able to find the way out of this life, the closest she's ever got was loving Stiles.

Her tears run dry and she takes in a deep breath. She has to be smart, whoever has kidnapped her has to be appeased. Especially if they have Stiles.

The car abruptly stops and her whole body is flown into a wall, her nose crunching against the impact. Her eyes sting with tears as the impact of hitting her nose rushes to her brain. Making her head sway.

Gradually, the trunk door opens and Lydia winces at the light that floods through. She can't see the faces of her kidnapper because she can't see shit. The bright light has made blue splodges appear in front of everything she looks at.

Roughly, they yank her out of the car and drag her along the concrete. She thrashes in their strong hold, later realizing that there's more than one person taking her to wherever.

Someones hand is wrapped tightly around her wrists, pressing them together. She can imagine it'll bruise. She imagines the way that Stiles holds her wrists, gently, when she upset and he's making her look at him. She thinks of the way he kisses her pulse in her wrist, thanking his lucky stars she's alive. It makes her skin crawl, makes a wave of sadness it her in the chest; the way he touches her that is now replaced with how she's being handled. She blinks, hard, willing the tears to leave.

When her eyes adjust she sees a warehouse type of building with big metallic doors. Not easy to break through, she guesses.

There's a tight grip on her upper arm, dragging her in the dirt, scuffing her heeled boots.

She shakes her head, attempting to scream but she's hit around the head causing a splitting pain to slice through her brain. So she stops, falls slightly limp in their hands as she allows them to abuse her.

She makes an effort to keep her eyes open, trying to map the way in so she has an escape route, if no-one comes and saves her.

She almost chides herself for being so cowardly, expecting Scott or Stiles or Malia to come to the rescue. They may be pack, but it's not their job to put themselves in danger just so she's safe. It makes her want to scream. It makes her not want to be a banshee.

There's a series of corridors, all dingy and funny smelling. They go through at least two doors that have manual locks, which makes Lydia's heart jump to her throat. Just another barrier between her and Stiles. Between her and the pack. Between her and survival.

She's taken to a room which is large and spacious, with a lone chair sitting in the middle.

They continue pulling her along the flooring, although she tries to dig her heels into the floor, trying to stop herself. She just ends up scuffing her boots even more. So she complies, she lets them force her into the chair, tie scratchy rope around her body and rip off the tape on her mouth.

She considers screaming.

She considers the consequences.

She shuts her mouth.

Her eyes finally register who's in front of her. One, is a young looking man with skin the color of caramel and a brown buzz-cut. He resembles a mixture between Scott and Stiles. His ear is pierced, which oddly grabs her attention and he wears a dazzling silver stud. He's no older than twenty, someone young who was brainwashed into believing what he's dong now is right.

Next to him, a woman, who resembles Kate Argent. She isn't blonde with green eyes though, but she stands confident like her. Lethal. Instead her hair is black, falling in loose curls down her shoulders, cascading down past her breasts. Her eyes are a piercing blue, almost like Malia's when she's a coyote, but they don't carry the same warmth. She's tall, her legs running for days in her tight leather pants and her chest sticks out perfectly with the tightness of her t-shirt.

They look strong and powerful, Lydia wonders if her scream would knock all of them out. Or maybe just herself.

"So you're probably wondering why you're here." The woman says, she sounds bored as she takes a step closer.

Lydia almost laughs at her.

"I wouldn't mind knowing." Lydia mumbles, her head still throbbing.

The woman smiles, sickly sweet and Lydia's vision narrows. Only on her.

"You see, your friend the Doctor-"

"Deaton." Lydia tells her, her heart pounding at the mention of him. Is he alive or is he dead? Make or break.

She's met with a slap around the face, her cheek burning red. "Do not interrupt me."

Lydia meets her eyes defiantly, doesn't nod, doesn't do anything.

"He's reluctant on giving us information," She crouches down before her and Lydia wishes her beauty wasn't this intimidating. "So, he sent us on a little Field Trip to come find you."

"Me?"

"You're worth a lot, Lydia." Her hairs stand up when she uses her name. Something so bitter sounding when it comes from her mouth. "But so are emissary's."

"Oh, tell him I'm glad he finally started doing that again. It's a shame, he was a good vet." Lydia shrugs, deciding to be sarcastic because if they're going to kill her she may as well go out being witty.

She jolts in her seat as a shot of electricity bolts through her, behind her the younger man stands with a taser. She winces, coughs and meets the woman's eye. Her eyes go funny for a while, she sees two of everything.

"I hate the witty ones." She spits. "Always think they're so smart."

"Tends to be what witty means, yes." Another slap around her cheek.

"Point is," She continues. "If I were to kill you now I'd get all your assets of twenty million." Lydia remembers the deadpool, the fear of being killed. "But if we were to kill Deaton, we'd get so much more."

"So, Deaton sent you here to kill me?" Lydia asks because she's confused. Deaton wouldn't of gave her up like this but she isn't sure what the woman is getting at.

She sticks her bottom lip out. "Feeling sorry for yourself?"

"I'm feeling sorry for you," She says, waits for an electric shock or another slap but none comes. "Because before you know it a True Alpha is going to be waltzing through this door with a were-coyote that has some serious aggression and a human with mad skills at using a baseball bat as a weapon."

Something heavy connects with Lydia's temple, immediately making bile rise to her throat and she falls to the ground, her other temple hitting the floor. She's able to think that this is how it might end. Blunt head trauma.

They yank the seat back up, making the room sway around Lydia.

"We took care of them." She smiles, and Lydia's actually sick this time. She coughs up whats in her stomach to the side of her, although wishing she did it on the woman's shoes.

"Fuck you."

Another electric shock.

"But what we really wanna know is where Kate is."

"Kate?"

"Kate Argent, don't play stupid."

Lydia looks up confused. Confused why Monroe doesn't know where Gerard is. Confused why this woman wants Kate. Confused as to why she was kidnapped.

Lydia actually laughs. "I don't have a fucking clue."

A punch to the lip. That'll swell, she thinks.

"I'll ask one more time." She tilts her head, face awfully close to her.

Lydia braves it. She opens her mouth and screams. Her eyes squeeze shut and she lets her voice split through her own mind as she screams for help. Screams for Stiles to come and save her. Screams for all of this to end. Maybe she even hopes she'll scream herself awake, wants to wake and be in bed with Stiles.

Her voices dies out, her throat burning raw as she gradually opens her eyes. She finds the woman collapsed to the floor, hands jammed in both her ears; blocking out the sound. The younger boy? She isn't sure, she assumes he's still behind her holding his taser.

Lydia slumps in her chair, ready for another slap or punch or shock. Ready for anything. She's exhausted, always is after she screams, so she fully accepts this is how she will die.

Until Stiles and Scott burst through the heavy door, Scott in wolf form and Stiles with his baseball bat, swinging it as he walks. The werewolf and the human. Brothers. Heroes. Her boys.

Relief floods her instantly when she meets Stiles' eye, although he looks scared. Maybe at the sight of her; bloodied and bruised and battered.

She momentarily forgets about her kidnapper, lying on the floor, her mouth open in shock as she stares at Scott and Stiles. Although she gets up, shakily, and runs at Scott and Stiles.

Her vision starts going fuzzy, the hits to her head finally kicking in. The cut on her lip singing in the air as it bleeds makes her dart her lip out and her face burning red. Not to mention the weird jelly feeling all those shocks have gave her. She's a mess, but still she tries to smile at Stiles reassuringly.

She thinks that maybe it wasn't a good idea because he looks like he might cry. His lips parting and his whole face falling the way it always does when she finds herself in situations like this. When she bled out on the lacrosse field. When Tracy stabbed her. When the Beast almost ripped her throat out. Always this situation. Always Stiles looking like his world is ending.

"Jesus, Lydia. What did they do to you." He mutters, he gently places a kiss on her head then proceeds to untangle the ropes in which she's tied in.

His fingers work wonders, easily pulling the rope out of loops and untying her in seconds. She hears a scream and looks over to Scott, he's currently throwing this woman into a wall.

"You good to stand up?" He holds onto her arms and she nods.

Determinedly, she stands up, whole body shaking so she slumps easily into Stiles' arms.

"I can't-" Lydia lip trembles, the shocks must of killed some nerves or maybe it's the fear but she can't walk for shit.

Stiles' hand cups behind her head, forcing her to look at him. His eyes are warm but sad, like he isn't sure this is what he signed up for when he said he was coming home for Thanksgiving.

"Hey, hey," He says soothingly. "You're okay. I got you."

She's scared she's going to cry and not be able to stop, because that's what happens when Stiles is kind to her. He makes her feel too fragile and weak, he makes it okay for her to be hurt. It's not. She can't afford to be weak for one second because the minute that happens she's a goner.

He gives her a small, sad smile and runs a thumb over her bruised cheek. He pulls his hand back, face in a frown as he examines his thumb and then both his hands. The hands she usually adores are covered in dark red blood.

"Stiles," She mumbles, her tongue feeling weird in her mouth. She reaches up to her cheek, finding blood there from where his thumb had been.

Stiles' eyes are fixated on something behind her and she sees the way they grow wide and begin to tear. She turns around, still almost completely slumped on him, to find a pool of blood on the floor.

"Don't look at it," He says, voice stern. But she does, even walks a little bit to get a look.

Behind her chair the boy with the caramel skin and walnut eyes and the silver ear-piercing is almost unrecognizable because half his head is missing. She feels a sob rip our of her chest, a boy, not much younger than them, dead. Because of her. She'd killed him, she's taken another life because she may be supernatural but she can't protect herself. She's never been able to. Stiles pulls her from behind, dragging her away from the body.

With a horrible thought, she figures that his blood splattered on her head. She was too busy screaming to notice it. She shudders as bile threatens to make its way out her mouth.

With Stiles still dragging her away, his thumb stroking her arm, she manages to think that he was the same age as Liam. When she was that age she begged for mercy, begged for her life. She believed so strongly that she deserved to live, that she was a good person but maybe after all this time she was destined to fuck up.

"Stay away from us," Scott's voice brings her back, red eyes glowing and claws cutting. "Otherwise you won't be walking away this easily."

The woman with the brown hair, lies on the floor with scratches all along her arms and face. Not enough to kill her but enough that it will scar. She's whimpering, tears pooling in her eyes. Lydia almost feels bad for her, then realizes she was beaten to a pulp because of her.

Scott moves out of the way, helps Lydia stand properly with the help of Stiles, although half her body is limp. Her limbs too heavy for her muscles to carry.

"Are you okay?" Scott asks Lydia, a hand on her arm.

She looks up at him, now in human form and feels tears swarm her eyes. Her lip is throbbing and she can taste blood in her mouth because of it, her hair is heavy with the kids blood and her cheek is swollen and bruised. She opens her lips to say something, but no words come out. She glances back at the boy, watching his blood continue to ooze out from underneath him. One eye missing, half his skull shattered.

Dead.

Possibly innocent.

Murdered.

She won't let the tears fall, she can't. The only way she redeems herself now is if she saves Deaton, it's the only way she would ever begin to forgive herself.

She looks back at Scott, and thinks of his question. She isn't going to cave, she is not weak just slightly fractured. She nods her head, she has to be okay even though she isn't.


	6. Two Birds, No Stones

**So sorry for the late update, I'm so busy but I've definitely not given up on this story! Leave a comment ;)**

* * *

It was gradually becoming dark by the time Lydia and Stiles got back to Lydia's childhood home. The winter sun was setting, and as Lydia looked out of the window of Stiles' jeep, she had thought moments ago that she'd never get to see a sunset again.

They take Scott home, after him calling Malia and telling him where he went, apparently she was at dinner with Mr Tate which explains why she wasn't part of the rescue team. When he leaves the car, Scott kisses her forehead and tells her it's okay. Although she notices the way his eyes linger on her swollen lip, making her believe that it isn't okay.

Lydia lets Stiles guide her through her house, not bothering to turn on any lights because he knows it like the back of his hand. Steadily, he holds her hands as he makes sure she walks up the stairs carefully.

She remembers her dream, running down the steps, towards Stiles.

He takes her straight to her room, still so gentle and she allows him to undress her until she's in her underwear. Then he takes her to the bathroom, runs her a bath and she gets in it, avoiding looking at herself in the mirror. He sits on the edge with a wet cloth which she presumes is for her injuries.

First getting stabbed, now this. She pats bubbles over her fresh scar.

"How do you feel?" He whispers quietly, like there's someone in the house and they have to be silent.

She looks up at him and manages to quirk an eyebrow comically. "I feel great."

"Lydia."

"You asked!" She exclaims, her voice breaking from all the screaming and shouting she did earlier on.

"Do you need a painkiller or will you be okay?" His voice goes back to soft, gentle as if he doesn't want to upset her.

"My head hurts a lot," Lydia tells him, looking down at her twiddling fingers underwater. "How do we keep getting in these situations?"

Stiles carefully dabs the cloth at her lip, causing her to wince when it stings. "Easy." He says softly, ignoring the question.

She doesn't think there's an answer to it anyway.

She watches, as if in slow motion, a drop of blood fall into the bath. From her lip, presumably, because its been throbbing since she got in Stiles' jeep. Then she remembers the way the seventeen-year-old boy laid on the floor, blood oozing endlessly from his shattered skull. Caused by her.

She thinks of Meredith, 'not all monsters do monstrous things', if only she could see her now. She wonders if she'd still say that after the way she shattered Valack's skull or the way she made the hunter's head explode. Something bitter inside her makes her want to laugh.

Her eyes begin watering, so she brings her knees up to her chest. Suddenly, wanting to go to sleep and never wake up.

She wants to forget about death, about life. How two opposite things relate so closely. She hates it, she hates what this world does to her. Hates the life she's been given.

Then she remembers how her hair is caked in his blood. She starts shaking, shoving Stiles hands away from her and running her own hands through her hair. It's matted, a frizz-ball of strawberry blonde and dry blood.

"Hey, hey what's wrong." Stiles' brow furrows, hands going out to hold her.

"My hair-" She begins, trying to turn around to get the shower head, determined to wash away any evidence of him.

The water in the bath spilling over the edge, just like the way her tears are now.

"What?"

"It has his blood on it, Stiles." Her tears slip down her face, making her grazed cheek sting.

"Shh, shh." He says, reaching for the shower head to stop her flailing, he turns it on letting it heat up.

"I need you to breathe," He says, cupping her cheek, his hand warm and wet. "Can you do that for me?"

She thinks if anybody else asked her, she wouldn't be able to. But it's Stiles, and she loves him more than she loves herself, so she does. Takes a deep breath in and a longer one out. Feels her lungs physically fill up with oxygen, with love from Stiles and allows her heart to skid to a regular pace. When she finds herself looking up at him she wonders how he does it, how he loves her so fiercely but doesn't break her. She wonders how he has this kind of a hold on her, a hold that no-one has ever possessed. But she doesn't mind it.

It's a good hold.

It isn't the violent, mean grip Jackson used to hold her arm by, it's firm but kind. Something only someone like Stiles could execute so well.

"Lean back," Stiles orders, tenderly. She complies, and he lifts the shower head over her scalp, letting the water run down her spine.

He watches the blood run pink down her back and tries not to think about when he killed Donavon.

She tries not to think about murdering someone else.

His hand that isn't holding the shower head runs through her hair, shaking out the blood and the dirt and the knots. Lydia tries to relax under his touch, tries to believe Scott's word when he tells her it's okay. She wants to believe it. But everything is so fucked up.

The water turns pink, and Lydia stares in horror at it. It's a fair mix between her own blood and the blood of the kid she murdered.

She wonders if his body is still in the warehouse, rotting and decaying until he'll be unidentifiable. Or, maybe the woman who Scott left battered and bruised is taking care of it. They won't tell on Lydia, say it's her, exposing the Supernatural is dangerous and that way they don't get their assets.

Stiles' hands bring her back from her thoughts, he orders her to stand so she does, and he washes her body. Gently. Smoothly. Making sure she doesn't break. She always thinks at how tiring she must be to put up with, how Stiles must secretly get fed up with her. Lydia takes a lot of work, she knows that, she guesses that's why she loves Stiles as much as she does, because he doesn't give up.

When Stiles brings the shower head up to wash off the soap, she wants to kiss him as a thank you, but she isn't sure he wants to kiss that swollen lip of hers.

Lydia watches Stiles go to the airing cupboard, bring her a fluffy white towel and wrap it around her. He helps her step out the bathtub and guides her to her room.

She sits on the edge of her bed, tugging at her towel so she keeps warm and Stiles digs her out his old lacrosse jersey and a pair of grey lounge bottoms, the pair he keeps at her house. She assumes it's because he knows how comforting she finds that. He knows about the nights she spends in Boston, alone with nothing but her fingers and a few old t-shirts Stiles gave her.

"Thank you," She whispers, throat sore from being a banshee. She knows she owes him so much more than a thank you, but she doesn't know what else to do or say. It's messy, she thinks. She has a list in her head, of everything nice Stiles has every done for her, and even now she's forgotten about some because the list is becoming too long. She owes Stiles. Always will owe him. "I'm sorry this happened."

"It isn't your fault," Stiles tells her, offering her a small smile. "I'm just glad you're alive."

"I killed someone, Stiles." She whispers like she's at confession, praying for forgiveness. "I've killed two people."

Something in Stiles softens, like every single wall he may have built has fallen down, maybe it's because she sounds so vulnerable right now. His arms wrap around her, pulling her into the warmest hug she's ever had. She finds it odd, that even after she's has done something as awful as murder he still makes her feel okay. Even though it shouldn't be.

"You saved your own life," He kisses her forehead and pulls back, cupping her cheeks. "It was self-defense."

"It was murder."

He frowns at her, shakes his head and sighs. She knows he's thinking of Donavon, he called it self-defense and now he's trying to make her believe it too. Except it wasn't really self-defense. The boy hadn't come at her, sure he was stood behind her with a weapon but he wasn't about to use it again. So it was murder. The word circulates around her head.

Like a news article.

Murder.

He towel dries her hair a little, or as best as he can because he isn't sure how you dry hair that is that thick and long. She ties her hair into a bun, robotic-like and pulls back the covers. She gets under the sheets and when she's lying, she watches Stiles get himself ready.

Her pulse steadily pounding against her temple, a pulse of it's own begging to live a better life than this. Her heart begs for a life better than this. She hates death, hates guilt, hates everything that comes along with this tragedy called her life.

He gets into bed, slipping under the covers next to her with a big sigh.

She turns to him, feeling her bottom lip begin to wobble as her heart shatters over and over.

His eyes look bigger, more doe and every fleck of gold woven in whiskey makes Lydia realize why she wants to be alive. Why the only thing really worth living for is Stiles. Although, she knows why she's happy to be alive when Scott's dimples pop in his cheeks, or when Malia laughs and hooks their arms, she even knows it when her mother kisses her cheek before she goes to bed. She knows why she's alive. She knows why she should be alive. She's Allison's legacy, Allison died for her.

She just has extreme measures to stay alive. And that's the shitty part.

She's murdered, she has blood on her hands. But the best of them has that. When she thinks about it, almost all the pack has blood on their hands.

"You need to sleep," Stiles whispers to her, his big bear paw cupping her face and wiping away a salty tear when it falls. "You're exhausted."

She has to stay alive now, all of them do. They haven't come this far with the hunters to lose, they haven't come this far in general to be taken down. She has to overcome this, and she thinks that maybe she can when Stiles wraps his arm around her and holds her to his chest. She thinks that maybe she can do anything.

* * *

Lydia doesn't want to leave the house. Not because she's afraid she'll be kidnapped again, or the hunters are out to kill her, but because her face is swollen like a beach ball. Her temple, her left eye and her cheekbone all varying shades of green and blue and purple.

She looks like a mess. Even more worse, she looks weak.

She looks like she can't fend for herself, like she's delicate. And she knows people see her this way. She saw it in the way Stiles brushed a tear from her cheek last night, or when Scott kissed her forehead before he left Stiles' jeep.

"We're meeting at Scott's in twenty," Stiles says as he types on his phone, he looks up at her. "We'll leave in five."

She can't even attempt make-up, her face too sore for her to even attempt applying anything. But she does brush through her hair, sprays it with sea salt spray and tousles it slightly. She looks like a tragedy.

Her face varying shades of black and blue, her lips swollen with a crimson cut, her cheekbone grazed and her hair stuck out.

She has to stare fiercely at herself in the mirror, just so she doesn't start crying. She feels her lip wobble, lets her eyes water and puts a hand over her mouth, stopping her from crying out. She isn't like this. She doesn't let herself breakdown like this. It makes her feel fragile. And she likes feeling strong.

She grips onto the edge of the sink, exhaling deeply from her mouth, her knuckles turning white. She can do this, she can go to Scott's and discuss what happened, and she will bounce back from this. She's a fighter, always has been. And fighters don't crumble and let their flame fizzle out.

They stand strong. Their fire ignites into something more, a torch, a firework, a supernova.

She can be okay, even if only in front of the pack.

"Lyds, you good to go?" Stiles' head pops around the corner, eyebrow darting up.

Something in his face changes, goes softer or maybe grows more concerned, but Lydia can't tell. She's sure it's the sight of her, dressed in a pencil skirt that reaches her knees with a jumper tucked into it and her hair curled usually. But her face is beaten to a pulp. How she's so herself but not.

Or maybe it's because her eyes are a little glassy and she's gripping the sink for dear life.

"Hey," He says, voice back to being gentle, like she might break at any second. "Are you okay?"

"Of course," She tries to smile, but when her lips stretch it threatens to split open the cut again.

"Lydia." He says, his voice only partly desperate.

His eyes are soft, looking at her like she's the stars and the moon. It makes her feel like she might cry, like his big doe eyes and his round face might set her off before realizing she was kidnapped only yesterday.

"I'm fine, Stiles." She swallows and nods.

He lingers by the door for at least thirty more seconds, just watching each other. Eventually, he nods and walks off.

She loves that about Stiles. He never presses at the right moments, let's her be because sometimes the only person that can bring herself back up is her. She brushes the hair out of her face and lets go of the sink, tells herself she's capable of this, capable of anything, and leaves the bathroom.

The whole way to Scott's she rehearses the way she'll greet them both in her head, unsure of how they'll act. Malia might act a little shocked when she sees her, mostly because she hasn't seen her like this yet and because she's still learning those social skills.

Scott will probably give her one of those 'Scott McCall' smiles Allison used to gush about. But she doesn't doubt the way he'll share a worried glance with Stiles when she walks off. At that point she isn't sure she can pretend she's okay, she isn't the same Lydia that could hide behind bouncy curls and lip-gloss.

She's her own self now, and unfortunately the closest people around her can read her like a book.

There's no hiding.

They get to Scott's in no time, Stiles parks the jeep and unbuckles his seat belt but catches Lydia's wrist when she tries to open the door.

He opens and shuts his mouth several times, trying to figure out what to say, so Lydia raises an eyebrow.

"I just wanted you to know that, uh, you can talk to me." Lydia relaxes, her heart already so warm for him, melting a little more. Maybe it's because he sounded shy, or maybe it was because she wasn't expecting him to say that.

"I know." She replies weakly, attempting a genuine smile. She wants to kiss him, but her lips to fucked up. So instead she reaches a hand over to cup his face, scratching behind his ear gently.

"I don't care if it's now, or at like three in the morning," He turns and kisses her wrist. "I want you to talk to me."

"I know." She repeats, and lets Stiles kiss her forehead, the part that isn't bruised.

He walks around to her side and opens her door, because he's Stiles, what else would he do? She steps out, legs a little shaky at the aspect of facing Scott and Malia.

She isn't sure why she lets herself act this weak, but she takes Stiles' hand as they walk up the cobbled driveway to the McCall's house. Stiles only has to knock once, and within five seconds Scott's at the front door.

Scott's face doesn't falter when he looks at Lydia, and Lydia just knows how it took everything in him to remain normal on the exterior. She doesn't know what would make him cringe more, her face or the fact she's killed someone? He pulls her in for a hug, warm hand rubbing her back comfortingly. Then he kisses her forehead, just where Stiles did a few moments ago.

She gets an urge to scream, to tell Scott and Stiles that she doesn't need their sympathy or forehead kisses. She needs a bit of tough love, maybe something Allison could give her.

She pushes past Scott and follows the hallway into the kitchen, where Malia is. She lets Scott and Stiles talk in hushed voices in the hall.

Malia stands at the counter, gathering some snacks for what Lydia persumes may be a long day, maybe even a long night. When Malia sees her she smiles, quickly scans her over with flitting eyes and pulls her in for a qucik hug. Hugs aren't Malia's thing, so really she's glad it's kept quick.

"You look rough," Malia jokes lightly, and Lydia's glad. Something inside her seems to spark slightly, at least someboday has their sense of humour.

"I think I'm just tired," Lydia jokes back. "I don't know if you noticed but I got pretty beaten up, too."

"I never even noticed-" Malia laughs, her face scrunching up in a knot.

She's cut off by Stiles and Scott entering the kitchen.

Then Lydia goes back to feeling drained. Goes back to feeling like a vase, like she's easily broke.

"So," She speaks up, after a few moments of silence. "What brings us together today?"

She looks at Scott, considering it was his idea.

"Two things," He says, tucking his hands into his jean pockets. "We need to figure out whatever the hell the hunters wanted yesterday," He pauses, letting his words hang in the air. "And I think it's time we found out where the fuck Gerard is."

"What about finding Deaton?" Stiles asks, leaning his hip against the kitchen counter.

Scott looks troubled for a second, like maybe he's had a few sleepless nights because of it. "We find Gerard, we get Deaton."

"What if we can't find Gerard?" Stiles asks, and it's like everybody holds their breath.

"Then we just gotta go in for Deaton." Scott tells them firmly, sure of himself.

Lydia weighs up the options in her mind, trying to think about what the best option is. She supposes they can't really go in and attack to get Deaton, that might result in Deaton getting murdered by the hunters. And logically, figuring out why the hunters went after Lydia yesterday might help them.

So she sucks in a breath and nods, realizing that there really is no other way. Or any other way that seems to suit the situation right now. Malia agrees too. Lydia secretly thinks that they're all too tired to really care about a plan that is thoroughly thought out.

They just want to go back to the boring everyday. Lydia wants a snowy winter in Massachusetts, and then come home for Christmas to Beacon Hills, that's just very cold and rainy instead of it snowing. She wants Stiles in her bed and not because he's trying to protect her from the same hunters they've been fighting for over a year now. She wants to sit by the fire with him, fuck him in his jeep when they're too cold, she wants normal. She wants boring.

"What exactly happened with the hunters yesterday?" Malia answers, eyebrows raised as she looks at Lydia, her eyes showing some signs of sympathy.

"This will take a while," Lydia raises her head. "Maybe we should go sit down?"

* * *

Night is slowly crawling upon them when they go through everything that happened with the hunters yesterday. They take notes on everything: the location she was taken, the questions and most importantly, Lydia's weird feeling in the store.

"Lydia," Stiles says seriously, throwing the tiniest bit of pizza crust back into it's box where it sits on the table. "You must know whether Deaton is gonna die. You just gotta know what's gonna happen. That feeling at the store was an indicator."

Lydia rolls her eyes, again. "I've told you once and I'll tell you again, I have no idea what's going to happen with Deaton, I still haven't understood what being a banshee allows me to do."

Scott and Malia let out a soft sigh of defeat and Stiles rolls his eyes this time, and runs a hand across his face. "Babe, please."

"Babe, no."

Stiles hits his head against the table.

"I promise the minute I get a feeling I'll tell you." She lifts a shoulder and tries to smile at him. "But don't you think we should be a little curious about why the hunter wanted Kate?"

Everyone is silent for a moment, the low buzz of quietness ringing in their ears.

"Maybe she owes them a favor?" Malia pipes up, so wonderfully naive in this moment that Lydia's reminded that she's only been a human for two years, that Malia sometimes finds certain concepts hard.

"It's not a bad point," Lydia shrugs. "She might of got the hunters to kill someone for her. Seems very 'Kate' to me."

Stiles shakes his head. "This is Kate Argent: huntress, murderer, arsonist and were-jaguar." His fingers list everything he says. "Doesn't seem very Kate to me."

Lydia almost wants to stick her finger up to him for being such a smart ass. And maybe if they were alone, in a room in front of a big mystery board she might of done it and he might've pulled her into him and smacked the most sloppiest kiss on her cheek. Maybe if her cheek wasn't so bruised she'd do it now. Maybe that's what stops her.

Or maybe because this is serious, they have to find Deaton, no matter what.

"So, what? Kate's in trouble and to get to Gerard we have to find her?" Scott's brow creases and he leans against his chair and pushes out, away from the table.

"Not necessarily," Stiles inputs, hand running through his hair. "Can't we just try to track down Gerard, without involving Kate?"

Lydia runs her hand along her forehead, massaging her temples. "How do we even track Gerard?"

"Maybe we should phone Argent?" Scott suggests, and everyone looks at him. Not because it's a stupid idea but because Argent fell off the radar a while ago.

"Or?" Malia raises her eyebrows, hands spreading out on the table.

"I don't think there is an 'or'." Scott looks troubled, and Lydia feels guilty again when she remembers how fond of Deaton Scott is.

"And what if we can't get hold of Argent?" Stiles asks, looking up from where his eyes had been focusing on his clasped hands.

"We have to," Lydia reminds them, her heart pounding in her ears at the aspect of never getting Deaton back. "It's the only way."


	7. Spite and Fury

**Yes, I'm aware this is extremely late in terms of being updated but it's been a hella hard month so bare with me. I hope you enjoy, even threw some sexy Stydia in here :)**

* * *

When Stiles walks past Lydia in the kitchen he kisses her cheek, and for the first time in a week, she doesn't wince.

It's taken that long for her injuries from her kidnapping to heal, but it's taken having her cuts washed with salt water twice a day to do it and she's been on a strict diet of chicken breast, vegetables and more chicken. She needed to be ready for Thanksgiving, had to be ready for when the pack and their parents would all be at Melissa's house.

Although, there is still horribly black bruises on her ribs and if you look close enough, her make up looks a little uneven on her cheek bone where it's painted over a scar. Nevertheless, she looks well, and feels it too. And she knows they haven't found Deaton yet, or found Gerard, or found out why the hunters wanted Kate Argent. But she knows that's what today is for. Today is a day for answers. And a day to be thankful.

She will be thankful for the answers she's given.

And she's thankful for the way Stiles gives her a lopsided grin, with his hair a little disheveled and his jeans tight enough they make his ass look holy.

She smiles back, and turns back around to wear she's chopping carrots. Really, why is she the one stuck with this job?

She continues, allows the content chatter to calm her, allows the smell of turkey to waft through her nose and allows herself to appreciate the moment. Because they're all together, on one day, in one house and it feels special, intimate.

She likes it. It feels like family.

She wonders if next Thanksgiving will be the year when everything is finally peaceful, she wonders if when her and Stiles come home from College they won't be able to keep their hands off of each other because all they'll be able to think about is how long it's been since they tasted each other. When she thinks of it, they've barely touched one another since being home. They haven't had time and they've been too busy being smart to think about sex. But now she thinks of it she can't help but rub her thighs together underneath her dress.

She doesn't know why, but she looks at him when she does, just to see if he notices. She watches his tongue dart out to wet his bottom lip as he watches her, but looks away quickly before Scott can notice anything.

She doesn't know why she does this to herself, gets all worked up knowing damn well they're in Melissa's house with a werewolf and a werecoyote who both have supernatural senses.

As she slides the knife through the peeled carrot, she wonders what it would be like if it was just the two of them. How they would probably fuck right here, on the kitchen counter. And Lydia likes to think she'd be okay with that, that maybe if they make it out alive they can have that life together.

She chops quickly, scooping up the vegetables when she's done and putting them in a pan of boiling water. Before Melissa can give her another job to do she leaves the kitchen, walks into the lounge where almost everyone is.

Her mother must of came here when she was busy preparing food, but she finds her smiling as she talks politely to the Sheriff. Argent squeezes her shoulder as he walks past to join Melissa in the kitchen and she sees Scott, Malia and Stiles sat on the sofa, talking and laughing.

And for one perfect moment Lydia, rather foolishly, thinks that everything is okay. She believes she can make it through anything, believes Deaton can be saved, believes Gerard will be found. She relishes in it. Allows it to consume her. After all, she should be thankful.

She can't help but practically fly over to Stiles, and dives into his lap, hooking her arm around his neck.

"Shouldn't you be helping Melissa?" Scott asks, hand resting on Malia's thigh.

"I've done my part." Lydia shrugs.

Just then, she hears Melissa's voice call. "Lydia, sweetheart!"

Lydia slumps into Stiles, and turns her head to the door frame where Melissa is.

"Do you mind going into the spare room to get the wine?" She asks, smiling so sweetly at Lydia that she knows she can't say no.

"You keep the wine in the spare room?" Stiles comments, his tone drenched in sarcasm, as always.

Melissa raises her eyebrows at him, in the teasing-mother way that she does. "Go help her, now."

Stiles rolls his eyes and stands up after Lydia gets off of his lap. Lydia leads the way up the stairs, making sure to sway her ass a little extra knowing it's right in his face. But when they reach the top of the stairs Lydia pulls him in the opposite direction from the spare bedroom, towards the bathroom.

"What's going on?" Stiles says lowly, sounding almost concerned but the hunger in Lydia's eye makes him realize that nothing is wrong, she's just bought him here to be ravished.

"What's going, Stiles," Lydia says, a smirk playing on her lips, pushing him gently against the door. "Is you."

His lips quirk up into the sweetest smile and Lydia kisses him, pulls back to stare into his eyes. "And what makes you think that I'm going to fuck you in my best-friends childhood home?"

She hears the word fuck and her knees actually wobble.

"Because you love me?"

"Our parents are downstairs."

She sticks her lower lip out.

"And no doubt Scott and Malia will hear." Stiles teases her, and Lydia rolls her eyes, raising her chin to look up at him.

Lydia won't take any of the excuses, if he's denying her sex then she wants to leave so she goes to grab the door handle but Stiles catches her wrist, turns them around so he's towering over her and catches her lips in his.

Her hands rest at his sides, pulling him closer to her. He's warm against her, and Lydia believes so strongly that he can fix her. That everything will be okay because he's beside her. As his lips connect with hers she imagines him fixing her broken parts, handling them with care and constructing her anew.

He takes a step back, pulling her with him and guides her to a counter where he lifts her by her thighs and slides her back a bit. Only for her to slide back forward and eagerly go for his belt. She's sat so far on the edge, she can feel him if she cants her hips down.

"How long do you think we have?" Lydia murmurs against his lips, his hands go under her dress, feeling for the thong strap.

He looks down at his non-existent watch, and Lydia can't help but roll her eyes but then immediately laugh. "Before they wonder where we are?"

"No before they get back from Mars." Lydia replies, sarcastically and then Stiles is cupping her with his warm, bear hand and she's slumped against his shoulder, reveling in the way his thumb feels against her and the lace.

"Think you should quit the sarcasm?" He quirks.

"Funny coming from you."

"I'm not the one coming."

"Stiles?"

"Yep."

"Shut up."

He smiles into her mouth, and their tongues dance in a slow dance, then he helps take her thong off, dropping it on the floor by his feet. She's almost embarrassed how wet it is. Almost. She loosens his belt, tugging his jeans down his ass, stopping them mid-thigh.

He pulls his own boxers down while Lydia kisses his throat, wondering how disheveled they'll look when they emerge. He brings her forward slightly, just enough so that he can line himself up with her. He rubs himself at her clit, and her legs hike up near his hips.

"We don't even have a condom." He says, although it's so half-hearted, he's right here up against her and if he moves a bit he can slide into her slick heat. But instead he stops them.

"Pill, Stiles."

"Since when?"

"Since I realized that I can't stop fucking you." She sighs, his lips wetly tracing her neck.

He looks up at her, eyes foggy with lust but he manages to smile and look bashful. He looks down at them, nearly meeting, and pushes himself in. She lets out an involuntary low moan, which Stiles swallows with a kiss. The sensation of being filled by him is enough to make her come alone, and she's starting to think that if they got caught now she wouldn't regret it. Not one bit.

She hooks her legs around him, pulling him in closer with every thrust. His hands stay firm on her waist, underneath her dress and it offers her a strange type of comfort. Like he's never going to leave her. Like he's going to stick with her throughout everything. His mouth connects with her shoulder, breathing her in, trying to muffle his own moans. She has her head buried in his neck, mouth open and panting against his hot skin.

He keeps at it, thrusting in and thrusting out, one hand moves to lightly brush over her pebbled nipple and the other one gently presses circles into her clit. Sex is the only time he can multitask. And she loves it. Loves him.

He begins to feel her tremble, the familiar shake of her thighs as she nears the edge, and he pulls away from her shoulder, watches her like she's magic. She breathes shallowly into the air, breaths becoming louder. Then, she bucks up, chest rising and falling rapidly. Then, his hand is over her mouth and he's biting his lip to stop both their moans as they come, in unison.

Watching each other. Like it always should be them, together.

* * *

There's a soft buzz of chatter around the too-small table as they eat their Thanksgiving meal. There is laughter coming from Argent and The Sheriff, girls talk between Malia, Melissa and Lydia's mom, Stiles and Scott are indulged in a conversation about the food and Lydia is silent. Sat still enjoying the food, with Stiles' hand high on her thigh.

She tries to savor the moment. Tries to capture the feeling of family, gratitude and happiness before the pack have to talk to their parents about the Hunters. Before they have to ask Argent about Gerard. She wonders if they'll get an answer, maybe they'll even get a solution.

And could Lydia imagine that? Talking everything through after their food has been ate, and actually getting answers? Does she even want to imagine it? Getting her hopes up isn't a good thing, disappointment overrules any feeling in the world. Will this dinner signify the end of the hunters, or will it signify the start of not knowing?

"Did you try the sprouts?" Lydia's pulled out of her thoughts by a mouth-full of food speaking Stiles.

She doesn't want him to know she's worrying, that she's stressing over absolutely nothing. Things will resolve. They have to.

"Oh, so you liked them then?" Lydia quips, remembering how disgusted he was when she bought them at the supermarket the other week.

He shrugs, acting somewhat nonchalant.

She smiles at him. "Told you I knew how to make them real good."

"They aren't that good."

"They really are." Scott butts in, mouth full of food just like Stiles.

"See? Just like mamma makes them." She winks at them, and places her knife and fork together on her plate, signalling she's done.

In fact, everybody is done, it's only Scott and Stiles that carry on eating. They don't even realize they're the only one's still eating until Stiles goes in for more potatoes only to find everyone's eye intently laid on him.

"Seriously, how do you stay so small?" Lydia asks him when he drops his fork, finally calling it quits and preparing for dessert.

"Fast metabolism." He nods, like it's obvious.

Lydia envies that, that he can eat and eat and eat, does zero exercise and remain a stick. Lydia eats something slightly high in sugar and she has to go for a run.

Small talk fills the room again, except this time Lydia can't enjoy it and soak it up. She knows it's time for them to ask about Gerard, time for them to tell their parents they're still trying to find the hunters. Lydia remembers promising her mom that once she was in College she'd be over this, she'd be dedicated to her work. But now the truth will come out. And the loveliness of today will be ruined. Just. Like. That.

"Should I get the desserts?" Lydia offers, and everybody agrees, so Scott volunteers to go with her and when they're in the kitchen he carefully closes the door.

She looks at him, an eyebrow raised and he breathes in, deeply.

"Are we going to tell them about it now?" She knows he's referring to the agreement of telling them about the hunters, then asking Argent about Gerard.

Lydia goes to the silverware drawer, picking up a handful of spoons. "When else would we do it? Malia has to go after dinner because she needs to see her dad, and there is no way she gets to get out of this!"

With a shaking hand she reaches for the stack of bowls on a shelf and brings them down a little too heavily, onto the work surface.

"Lydia," Scott calmly says, walking over to her and holding the shaking hand. "It's okay."

"How is it okay?"

"We're getting answers," Scott tells her, his thumb rubbing over her knuckles, comforting her. "Which means this will all be over soon."

She looks up at him, and wonders how he manages to be so hopeful, so calm, so gentle after all these years of trauma, grief and change. How he still has that friendly look in those walnut-colored eyes after so many people have been unkind to him.

"How bad can it be, right?" She tries to joke, Scott offers her a gentle laugh and puts her hand down, helping her serve the right amounts of pumpkin pie in each dish.

She pours the cream from the carton into a cream boat, puts some vanilla ice cream in a bowl and gathers up the spoons. Scott juggles the eight bowls of dessert, refusing to use a tray. They serve them, allowing everybody to help themselves to cream or ice cream before they begin talking about where they've really been the past few months.

Lydia observes them slowly, notices how the crease in Sheriff Stilinski's forehead only really appears when he's working on a case. Or Melissa's brow of worry is only fashioned when she's treating a very sick patient. She's conscious of how much her mom has been smiling since came home, and she's scared it's going to be replaced with a frown.

Lydia hates this. She wishes she didn't have to ruin everyone's happiness, especially today of all days. She wishes that her and the pack can just defeat Monroe on their own, without involving the real adults. Without involving the people who will really worry.

Lydia accidentally drops the cream boat while she's pouring it over her pie, making the cream splatter across the fancy tablecloth Melissa laid out. She curses her shaking hand silently and rushes to clean it up despite Melissa telling her not to worry. When she sits back down Stiles' hand is on her leg, calming her and he's looking at her with his concerned Bambi eyes.

"Lyds, it' alright."

She wants to believe him, but she doesn't.

An uncomfortable silence over takes the table when the chatter dies out because the pack become aware of their situation. They know they can't keep pretending.

"Alright kids," Melissa is the first one to speak, dropping her spoon into her dish and looking around at all of them. "What the hell is going on?"

They look at each other for a brief moment, until Scott decides to speak, he is the leader after all.

"So, we have a few things we think you should know before they become too serious." Scott informs them, fiddling with his spoon while he speaks. Lydia immediately feels her mom's eyes on her, and she doesn't have the decency to look her way. "We haven't been completely honest with you."

"Stiles?" The Sheriff's voice interrupts Scott, and it's obvious he's angry. If his tone of voice didn't make that clear then the look in his eye does.

Stiles swallows thickly, and something in Lydia's chest pangs because she knows how much he loves and respects his dad. He hates lying to him.

"We're still fighting the hunters." Stiles scratches the back of his neck. Lydia reaches out and puts her hand on his knee, squeezes it comfortingly.

Lydia doesn't look at her mom, already picturing the look of disapproval she'll be wearing. But she does look at Melissa, who looks pained and the Sheriff looks concerned. Argent, however, is looking down in his lap. Possibly thinking. Lydia doesn't know.

"How long has this been going on for?" Melissa asks, she addresses all of them, not just Scott.

"It never ended." Scott tells her quietly, he reaches out to Melissa and gives her arm a squeeze but she doesn't look at him.

Lydia decides then to look at her mom, and meets her eyes from across the table. Her eyes are watering, and she can see her bottom lip wavering as she tries to remain composed. Lydia's heart breaks, because there's nothing worse than the sight of her mother trying not to cry. Especially when she'sthe cause of it.

"How dangerous is it?" Natalie speaks out, her voice is small and Lydia knows that she's trying hard not to cry.

Lydia looks at Stiles, who then looks at Scott, who then looks at Malia. They're considering it. Do they tell them how dangerous it is? But when they're this close to defeat how can they risk their parents being involved?

"Lydia, tell me right now." Her moms voice rings out in the silence and Lydia attempts to smile at her.

"It isn't that bad."

"You expect me to believe that? When you're constantly staying at Stiles'?" Her mother's voice raises. "How am I supposed to know when you're in danger if you're lying to me?"

Lydia doesn't have an answer for that. She knows her mom deserves to know where she is, and what she's getting herself into, but she can't.

"I can look after myself," Lydia lifts her chin when she speaks, and for a second her mother looks like she might actually cry. "In fact, I got kidnapped and tortured last week and you didn't even notice."

Natalie doesn't say anything, just lets a tear fall from her eye. She hates that. That she's so stubborn and it ends up hurting the people she loves most. She doesn't even mean to be so malicious with her mom, but she's angry. So so angry with the world, that sometimes she can't help but take it out on someone else.

There's a silence that envelopes the room.

"The reason we're telling you this, now, is because," Scott pauses, shaking his head. "The hunters have Deaton."

"Deaton?" Melissa breathes in disbelief, her eyes drooping in concern when she looks at Scott.

"We aren't too sure on how to get him back," Scott doesn't look at anyone particularly, his eyes wander around the room. "But we do know that the hunters want Gerard."

Argent's head snaps up from where he was looking down at his nap, his eyes are squinted and he looks troubled.

A wave of nausea washes over Lydia, and she wonders what news Argent's about to deliver. By the look on his face she knows it isn't good.

"So, what we really wanted to ask you, Argent," Stiles takes over from Scott, and Lydia notices how quiet Malia has been. She thinks it's possible she feels as bad as her. "Is if you know where Gerard is?"

There's a silence. An ear buzzing like a hive of bees silence. Lydia doesn't want to know, because right now multiple versions of this reality exist and she prays she's in the one where he knows exactly where he is. She needs a good outcome. She needs something good out of this.

"Eh," Argent pauses, hand rubbing his forehead. "Gerard is dead."

Something inside Lydia fails, maybe it's her heart sinking to the pit of her stomach or maybe it's the fact she feels like she cannot breathe. She cannot believe it. After all this, every beating she took and every lie she spun to Monroe all for this. Gerard is dead. Deaton may as well be dead.

She's hopeless.

"Wh- How?" Scott can't get his words out, and Lydia doesn't blame him.

"Kate killed him." Argent informs them, there isn't any emotion in his voice. He states is like a fact.

Malia finally speaks up. "Why didn't you tell us this?"

"I didn't think it was necessary you knew."

"Bullshit." Malia curses, leaning back in her chair and crossing her arms.

Melissa gives her a pointed look, but doesn't say anything.

Lydia can feel the tears spring to her eyes when she starts to feel the overwhelming feeling of panic overtake her body. They don't have Gerard to deliver to Monroe. which means Monroe has no obligation to return Deaton.

"If you told me you were still after the hunters then maybe I could've told you." Argent states bluntly.

Lydia can't take it. The feeling of complete hopelessness. The anger radiating off the walls from everyone in the room. She can't do it.

She isn't really aware of it, but she stands up on shaky legs and leaves the room. Makes it to the end of the hallway before she's really crying and wondering what the point of this is. What is the point of them still trying to win the war with the hunters? There is no point. It's ridiculous. Gerard is gone, and Monroe is gong to want someone to blame for that. The pack are great scapegoats for her.

"Lydia-" Stiles' voice comes from down the hall, but he stops what he's saying when he sees her.

She's a mess. She's crying pretty hard, trying to gasp for breath through her tears and she is falling. She is sinking. She is drowning. She hits the floor. She believes it's over for them, that it was all a big waste of time. She doesn't want to imagine what this means for Deaton, what it'll mean for Scott.

Stiles' hands are holding her against him, keeping her still while she pulls at his shirt, crying out for someone who won't listen.

"Lyds, look at me." He instructs her softly, she sniffs and then pulls away. Meeting his eyes. "I need you to breathe for me, can you do that?"

She heaves in a breath, and breathes out a shaky one. She tries to focus on him and what he's telling her. But it's hard. She doesn't know how.

"It's all going to be okay," He whispers as his hands tuck her hair behind her ears. "We'll find away to end this."

Lydia can't listen, not properly because all she can think of is how this might lead to more death and more chaos and more tragedy. She's done, she wants out of this shitty existence. It's a hurricane of disaster, and everything is beyond repair.

"What if it means Deaton gets killed?" Lydia looks up at him, trying to find the answer to all this in his eyes. She only find concern.

"You know we're going to do everything we can to save him."

"Yeah, and what if we can't this time?"

"Don't say that."

She hiccups and Stiles hand holds her chin, keeping her eyes locked with his.

"And the pack?" Lydia continues. "What if we lose someone?"

"Lydia, come on, we're gonna be okay." Stiles tells her, and she can tell even he's not that assured. He's just telling her this to keep her calm.

"And you?"

"What about me?"

"You gotta promise me you aren't gonna get yourself killed." Lydia can feel the tears spring to her eyes again, she can feel her throat constricting. "You didn't come down from D.C to get killed."

Stiles looks troubled for a second, as if remembering why he came home so early before Thanksgiving. He breathes out through his nose, and Lydia can feel the hot breath against her face.

His hands cup her jaw, forcing her to meet his eye.

"I'm not going to die." He says it sternly, which makes Lydia believe that he won't.

"Relationship?"

"Relationship."

She stares at him for few seconds and none of them says anything. His hands are burning into her with his warmth, and Lydia absolutely has to believe Stiles. If she didn't she would be lost. She would be a shell wandering around without her soul, unable to survive in this place they call the world.

Tentatively, she reaches up and kisses him on the lips and he kisses her back.

Scott interrupts them by entering the hall, and they turn to look at him. Lydia tear-stained with Stiles still cupping her jaw.

"Guys," He says. "We gotta create a plan."


	8. Hunting the Hunters

It takes days. Long, hard days of travelling around in Stiles' battered jeep across Beacon Hills looking for someone to help. They don't come across any encounters with the hunters, or pick up Deaton's scent or get hold of Kate. Everything is tainted.

It's an omen. Lydia believes it, can feel the weird feeling brewing in her stomach that something awful is going to happen and she has no idea how to stop it. She doesn't tell anyone in case it hurts them. She doesn't tell them in case it becomes true. And what would she do then if Stiles was hurt? She'd never recover, she wouldn't know how to fix herself because she wouldn't rely on anyone else doing it. Everyone would be distraught, he's the glue, the foundation.

So she pushes the feeling down. Squashes it. Sits on it. Anything to make it feel like it isn't there. She thinks of telling Malia, but she thinks she'd tell Scott. Loyalties and all that.

"What if we found out where Gerard's body was?" Stiles pipes up, seemingly stupidly but ends up becoming a valid suggestion.

They're all at Stiles' house because the Sheriff is working all day and night, and they're desperate for answers. Desperate for Deaton. Especially Scott.

"They don't even know that he's dead," Malia shakes her head. "Just think about what they'd do if we turned up to them with Gerard's dead body." She grabs a handful of popcorn from the bowl in the middle of the table and shoves it in her mouth, a few pieces dropping to the table.

Lydia wonders what they'll do when they realise that he is dead. She wonders if Monroe will even hear any excuses.

"An eye for an eye." Lydia mutters under her breath, she didn't think anyone could hear her over Malia's loud munching, but everyone turns their head to her. "What if they believe that?"

"Then someone's gonna pay." Scott says, his arms crossed on the table, his shoulders hunched with tension.

"What if we ask to meet Monroe alone with Deaton?" Malia lifts a shoulder and drops it. "That way we can explain to her that Gerard was killed by Kate, send the hunters her way-"

"Awful idea." Stiles cuts in, which Malia chooses to ignore.

"-Then we get Deaton after Monroe realises we're not the ones she wants. Easy. Hunters are gone. Deaton is back. Kate will probably get killed." Malia finishes but everyone shakes their head, already seeing faults in this plan.

"For one, we are not going to put Kate Argent in danger." Scott says, his forehead creased as he addresses Malia.

"But Lydia said she was a sociopath." Malia turns to look at her, but she just slightly shakes her head.

"She's a sociopath yes, she's crazy." Scott shakes his head at himself, like he can't get over the evilness of Kate. Like he can't forget every awful thing she's done to him or Allison or anyone at all. "But we aren't killers."

And Lydia thinks that that was enough to snap everyone into reality of who they are and why they're here. Maybe she imagines it, but she thinks she sees this registers on everyone's face, even Scott's and he's the one who said it.

She wonders if Scott considers himself lucky. That, unlike Gerard, he didn't end up dead.

But if he was lucky maybe he would be dead. Maybe someone would of had mercy on him, taken him away from this existence in which he is forced to fight and fight and fight. Yet he doesn't have blood on his hands.

Lydia envies that.

He might actually be able to fall asleep at night and stay asleep.

At least Scott hasn't just murdered a teenage boy using only his voice, at least Scott's never had to kill someone to save himself. But, maybe if Lydia and Stiles and Malia didn't have blood on their hands, would Scott? Surely, they've been protecting him and his True Alpha status? Isn't that the reason why Stiles killed Donavon and Lydia killed Valack? Just to protect Scott.

But Scott does have blood on his hands, although indirectly, people have died because of him. People have been killed for him. He's never asked anyone to kill the enemy for him, but it has happened.

Just look at what Kate did Gerard.

"We need to appease Monroe," Lydia speaks up, dragging herself away from her thoughts. Bringing her eyes up to look at everyone. "We need to find something to give to Monroe."

"We can't give her Gerard so we give her something else." Stiles nods as he speaks, processing her words. "What could we give her?"

They're silent for a moment.

"Money?" Malia pipes up.

"Where are we gonna get money from?" Lydia asks.

"Peter's been giving me some."

"Let's try not to bring anyone else into this." Scott reasons.

"What if we bought them Kate?" Stiles suggests, shoulders rising up just to drop down again. "Alive, of course."

"Wouldn't they just kill her?" Lydia counters, looking at Stiles, admiring the colour of his eyes for a split second.

Scott chews his lip for a moment. "Probably."

His head drops to the table and he sighs, Malia leans against his arm, in comfort.

Lydia wonders if this is enough for Scott, if having Malia makes up for losing Allison and Kira. And she wonders if Malia is content with Scott, as if Stiles was merely a way to pass the time. Lydia decides she needs to stop over analysing everything, it's making her head hurt.

"What if Lydia's kidnappers knew something about Kate? Like where she was?" Stiles pipes up, and Lydia already knows they're onto something. This is Stiles. Always right. Always has a plan.

"Didn't they ask Lydia _where_ Kate was though?" Scott raises his head, only to lean it on his folded arms on the table.

"They don't know where Kate is," Lydia says, shifting in her seat. "But maybe they'll help us find her."

Her words hang in the air as everyone digests them. Absorbing what she's really saying.

"You wanna go back to your kidnappers?" Malia asks, but everyone already knows the answer, if it saves Deaton of course she will.

"I killed one of them," Lydia's throat immediately tightens when she speaks, and she digs her nails into her palms to stop the tears. "The least we can do is help them."

"Maybe this will work." Stiles nods.

"But, they kept talking to me about my assets from the dead pool," Lydia shakes her head, trying to remember what they were saying to her. "Something about Deaton being worth more money than me?"

All eyes are trained on her, but Lydia can't remember much. She just remembers the blood of the boy she killed.

"Maybe we do need money after all." Scott says eventually.

"Just not for Monroe," Malia sighs. "For the kidnappers."

"How is this fair? They kidnap Lydia and now we're going to help them find Kate and pay them?" Stiles objects, as if forgetting this all stemmed from his idea.

She can see the distant anger fizzling in his eyes, of Lydia almost being killed. "We get Deaton back. Then this is over with forever."

He looks at her like he needs to be grounded, maybe her eyes or her voice is enough reassurance, because he nods. Seemingly agreed. And just from the look on his face, Lydia wants a hunter-free life more than anything. These past months have been draining, and she just wants to be able to see Stiles on normal circumstances and she wants to make it to their first Christmas together. But at the rate everything is going with the hunters, it seems impossible.

"Malia, do you think you can get the money?" Scott asks, that crease in his forehead and concern laced in his words. "If it's too much trouble then we'll figure something else out."

Too much weighs on this, Lydia knows, Malia won't back down. "Consider it done."

"We need to track down Lydia's kidnappers," Scott adds. "How's the Sheriff on that one?"

"Me and my dad can do that." Stiles nods, his fingers tapping at the table like he's anxious.

"That settles it then," Lydia sighs. "We're paying for Kate Argent."

* * *

Stiles makes her breakfast that morning; pancakes with fruit, drenched in maple syrup. Well, she likes to think he's made them specifically for her, but she knows it's secretly because he's only been eating granola at Lydia's house. So while they're staying at the Sheriff's, he's going to take advantage.

"Hey," He says as he shoves a fork-full of pancake in his mouth. "Are we technically being assassins-"

"Stiles, what-"

"Hear me out," He says chuckling, and he finishes eating what's in his mouth. "We've paid for your kidnappers to help us find Kate, and what's going to happen when we bring Kate to Monroe?"

"Doesn't mean to say she'll die." Lydia rolls her eyes, but finds herself smiling despite it all.

"But if she does?"

"We've paid for her death." Lydia mumbles and slumps in her chair, suddenly not wanting to eat her food or even go ahead with the plan they've got today.

"Hey, hey," He says, sliding off his chair and clasping her hands when he kneels in front of her. "I didn't mean it like that."

Lydia nods because she knows that, and she feels stupid for feeling bad about this. It's Kate. Kate Argent who killed Talia Hale and other members of the Hale family in the fire, Kate who tortured Derek simply to feel in control, Kate who put a gun to Scott's head. But then, after all that, she's still Allison's aunt. Although Lydia doesn't believe they can be from the same family with their such different morals. She still killed Gerard, eliminating a threat.

"We don't even know if she is going to be killed." Stiles rubs a thumb across her knuckles, and she nods again, at a loss for words. "And if she is?" Stiles shakes his head. "It isn't like she didn't deserve it."

She feels a little hollow on the inside, that their feud with the hunters has resulted in this. Trading off a person to ensure the safety of another.

"We don't even know if Deaton is alive." Lydia speaks, her voice suddenly croaky and she can feel the tears threaten to surface. "Would all this be worth it? To find Deaton dead? Or to find Deaton so injured that he'd be better off dead?"

Stiles is silent, simply chewing on his lip in thought as he kneels before her, hands still clasped.

But the moment and conversation is ruined when the Sheriff comes down the stairs, and Stiles stands up.

"Alright, kids?" He greets them, heading straight towards the pot of coffee, and Lydia has it in her to smile because it suddenly makes sense now, where Stiles' love for coffee comes from.

"Sleep well?" Stiles asks genuinely, and Lydia's heart swells for him, for his kindness.

The Sheriff nods and sips his coffee. "Today's the day then?"

"Today's the day." Lydia sighs, rolling a grape around on her plate with her fork.

"And everything's gonna work?" He raises his eyebrows in question, and Lydia finds herself looking at Stiles, waiting for an answer. She needs as much reassurance as his dad does right now.

Stiles nods and he smiles a little. "Of course Pops," He looks down at Lydia and winks. "Everything is going to work."

* * *

Lydia is uncomfortably tense, as she's sandwiched in the jeep between Stiles and the woman kidnapper.

Her hair is still deathly black, and falling in loose curls past her ribs. And she's got leather pants on again with heeled boots and her blue eyes are tearing into Lydia's mind. Lydia isn't scared of her anymore, because this woman still has a small cut on her lip from when Scott handled her. And this woman, who's name is still unknown to her, is fully aware that there is a true alpha sat in the seat behind her, along with a werecoyote.

"It's the left here," The woman points with a slim finger, nail painted black.

They've been driving for an hour and a half, and the place they're headed isn't even giving them Kate, it's bringing them to a 'contact' as she had put it. Really, Lydia doesn't know if she's setting them up. They haven't given her any money yet, and she has all the right reasons to want to fuck them over. Especially since Scott beat the shit out of her. Especially since Lydia killed one of their own.

She blinks away the image out of her head.

Stiles' jeep drives along a narrow dirt road, winding down to a red-brick house that has over-grown plants swamping it. She doesn't know what she's expecting out of this, she isn't even sure they're going to find Kate.

Stiles slowly breaks when they're a few metres from the front door and when he cuts the engine there's an uncomfortable silence.

"So what are we doing here?" Lydia turns to her kidnapper, trying to keep the anxiety out of her voice. She tries to find something in her eyes, like maybe something that will tell her she's lying and only has the worse intentions at heart. She finds nothing.

"We're picking up Rory." She replies, hand on the door handle, ready to pop it open and get out.

"The fuck is Rory?" Stiles looks at her, and Lydia can see the anger in him, being face to face with someone who caused Lydia so much harm.

"He can help us," She pauses. "He was the one driving the car when we took you." She shakes her head, a twisted smile forming on her lips. "He's the one you didn't kill."

Then she hops out of the car and marches to the door.

And Lydia feels a pang in her chest.

"We better go with her, make sure she isn't about to pull any shit." Scott mutters getting out the jeep and Malia following along.

Lydia hurts, her heart throbbing with the reminder she killed someone. A reminder that she isn't doing any good, delivering Kate to the hunters just to result in another death. The tears sting her eyes.

She doesn't know why she doesn't turn her head to the window so Stiles doesn't see, instead she grabs his hand that's drumming against his thigh and squeezes it, because she isn't good with words and she needs him.

He immediately looks at her, and squeezes back. "You okay?"

"I killed someone." Is all she manages to say because she's scared if she says anything else she will cry.

"Hey look at me," He turns, and uses his hand to lift her chin up to look at him. Her throat becomes even tighter. "It's okay."

She blinks at him, wishing they weren't here, wishing they were at his dorm at George Washington and she could fuck him into his mattress to forget about the stress of the world.

She inhales deeply through her nose. "It's not okay. Nothing about this is okay." She looks down, but his hand is lifting her chin back up. "l killed one of their own. If they'd killed me you wouldn't be helping them if they asked-"

"It isn't just us who benefits, remember?" Stiles cuts in, voice gentle but firm enough to pull herself together. "We're paying them a lot and they find out where Kate is."

"Doesn't take away the fact I'm a murderer."

"You're not a murderer."

"I killed someone didn't I?"

He gives a brief roll of his eyes and then presses his lips to hers, hand going to cup her cheek to steady themselves. It's enough for her to forget about a few things for a moment, and just focus on the warmth and the pressure his lips are applying.

"I'm not going to say it doesn't matter, because I know it does to you." He tells her. "When I killed Donavon, Malia told me that it didn't matter and I think that was the worst thing she could've said- that anyone could of said."

Lydia looks at him, swallowing thickly because she's never heard him talk about it, not really.

"But it doesn't make you any less of a person," He looks sad when he tells her this and it breaks her heart to know it's because he's gone through it before. "And I still love you anyway."

Lydia offers him a small smile and looks down at his lips. She leans forward and kisses him again.

"Hell, you could murder me and I'd still love you." He says once he pulls away. And she knows what he's saying, in other words.

"I'll love you forever too." Lydia says it, almost shyly in case this isn't really what Stiles meant, but he has this look in his eyes like it's taking a lot in him not to take her clothes off and do wonderful things to her.

She rubs her thighs together involuntarily.

"Oh how I wish we weren't hunting Kate right now." He bites his lip and presses his forehead to hers.

"And if we weren't what would you do?" She whispers it, and she doesn't know why she's fuelling this, they don't have time.

He trails a hand up her torso, threatening to touch her breasts that are nestled in her bra.

"Lydia," His voice sounds pained but all she can think of is him and how he makes her feel. "I-"

The door opens and they spring apart, Stiles' hand coming out of her top just a moment too late. Lydia tucks her hair behind her ear and feels her cheeks flush and turns to look at them sliding into the seats.

Scott and Malia give a slight frown at them because this clearly isn't the time for that but the woman hunter and Rory don't seem fazed.

Rory is a middle-aged man, his hair already completely grey and it's tied in a low, greasy ponytail. His face is gruff, criss-crossed with scars or wrinkles. She notices how tired his eyes look, all blood-shot and red-rimmed, like he hasn't slept in a very long time. Lydia hopes he wasn't close to the boy she killed, other wise she's in for an interesting car ride.

"Where are we going now?" Stiles begins putting the jeep in gear, and she can see the frustration in his face at the interruption and the restriction in his jeans. It's enough to make her feel better, it's enough to make her smile.

"I know where Kate is," Rory says, his voice low and gravelly. "She's in Beacon Hills."

* * *

Stiles is irritated that they just spent all that time driving out of Beacon Hills, only to go back in, but he still drives them all there.

Lydia begins twiddling with her hands, anxious of what this might bring her, and if it will bring her anything good. So much depends on this, if it doesn't work Lydia would fall into darkness, she needs this.

She needs to save Deaton.

"You could of warned me that she's living on the other side of Beacon Hills," Stiles huffs, turning into a gas station that Lydia's vaguely familiar with. "I would've put in more gas."

He slows to a stop in front of a pump and cuts the engine.

"Does anyone need anything?" He asks, fingers latching on the door handle.

"I need to pee." Malia says, unbuckling her seat belt.

"Now I have to go." Scott rolls his eyes, unbuckling his seat belt then they both leave.

Stiles looks back at Lydia, Rory and the woman kidnapper as if evaluating his options.

"Rory, you're with me." He makes a brief nod of his head and gets out, then ducks his head back in. "Can't leave Lydia outnumbered, that's hardly fair."

So Rory complies, and shuffles out of the front seat and trails by Stiles.

Lydia and her kidnapper.

She can hear her own heart thudding in her ears, can feel the room sway a bit beneath her. She doesn't like this, she feels too guilty.

"What was his name?" She blurts out, wincing the minute she says it. The kidnapper looks at her questionably. "The one I killed."

She breathes out through her mouth, causing her fringe to blow up around her. "Lewis."

Lewis. Okay, she can do this, the least she can do is learn some things about him. Maybe he wasn't even innocent. Maybe he'd killed previous people they'd kidnapped. Maybe he was older than he looked.

"He was like a little brother to me," She continued to speak, and Lydia knew she was being truthful, she didn't need to hear a heartbeat for that, the way her voice became strained was enough. "Maybe I shouldn't of involved him in this stuff."

Lydia's quiet for a moment, looking at the hunter from the corner of her eye, trying hard not to cry.

"How old was he?"

"Seventeen."

Lydia can't help the tear that falls from her eye, and she bites her lip. He was younger than her by two years. But still younger. When Lydia was seventeen she used to run for her life, away from her nightmares and demons, nobody had to kill her.

"I'm so sorry," She sounds pathetic because there's a whine to her voice, a please forgive me hint to what she's saying. "I never wanted to hurt, let alone kill anybody."

The hunter exhales sharply and lifts her chin up, turning to look at Lydia, as if trying to figure out what to do or say. "When the Alpha- Scott? When he came in, I wanted him to kill me. I didn't want to know a life without Lewis."

Lydia doesn't say anything, and she's glad, because she isn't finished talking anyway.

"But I kind of have sympathy for you now."

"Me?"

"You show remorse," She offers her a sad smile, and the tenderness unnerves her. "You're just an unlucky girl who got involved in this mess."

"Like Lewis?"

"Yeah," She sniffs and Lydia can spot Stiles and Rory walking back to the jeep. "Just a bit unfortunate."

Lydia doesn't say anything else, because she wants to ask if she's forgiven. The selfish part of her that just wants to be able to sleep at night, the part of her that doesn't want to atone for what she's done, she just needs forgiveness.

But maybe she doesn't deserve forgiveness, maybe she has to prove her worthiness.

Rory and Stiles get back in the jeep, shutting the doors with loud thumps. Stiles looks at Lydia as if to say Everything okay? when he gets in, in which she just nods, because things might not be great but they seem better than they were moments ago.

Soon after, Scott and Malia get in the jeep again and then Stiles continues driving for at least another twenty minutes until Rory gives him specific directions, telling him to take this left and that right.

"Has any of you ever met Kate?" Scott asks to fill the silence when Stiles in slowing down when he comes to a clearing with an old shack, slanted in the middle of it.

"I have," Rory says. "Kaz hasn't."

Kaz. That's the name of the female who kidnapped her. The not-blood sister of Lewis.

"How come you know her?" Scott asks, genuine intrigue in his voice.

"Had a couple of run ins with her," Rory gives a bitter chuckle. "You know what she gets like when she thinks she's in control."

And all Lydia can think of is Rory being chained up and tortured by Kate, maybe that's why Kaz wanted to know where she was so badly.

"How come you know her?" Rory asks, continuing on the chat.

"How do you explain this one, Scotty?" Stiles sneers.

"I dated her niece." Scott tells him, politely, ignoring Stiles.

A silence falls over them as Stiles approaches closer and closer to the shack. From what Lydia can tell is that it isn't hygienic, lacks electricity and most probably isn't stable.

They all stare at the shack for a few moments, all thoughts running through their heads as they consider what this could mean, why Rory would take them here out of everywhere? Why Kate would be here, out of everywhere?

Suddenly, Lydia feels uneasy, like this is a trap and they shouldn't of trusted Kaz and Rory. Maybe they should have been more careful with what they were doing, after all, they're the enemy.

Lydia turns to Stiles, only to see alarm on his face, the same kind she saw when she got kidnapped.

"Get down!" Stiles shouts, pulling Lydia's head under his arm, as a gunshot goes off and cracks the windscreen.

And Lydia watches it, she watches the bullet crack the glass and it blooms like a spiders web, and then it enters Kaz's chest.


End file.
